Child of the Dark Morn
by Deathcrest
Summary: Citta Della Quattro Santa, 1870. The nation of Italy is on the brink of war with the Imperial Russian state. With its advent of horror looming over the southern lands, can two aristocrats, one from either side reconcile after a long separation?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist, nor any of its segments.

Any note/announcement will be posted as soon as the need arises.

Note: If any reader may feel offended for the use of the factual history, please send your complains to me and I will try to repair the damage. Any event, fictional or not, that may invoke offense, please, send your complains to me.

Grazie,

Signor Alessandro Von Einzeberneg

* * *

Child of the Dark Morn

5:00 AM. Riza woke to the cry of the rooster as first light cleaved the dark sky. The dismal, moldered ceiling staring down at her with its rotted wood. In all prim and proper mannerism, she stood and made her worn-out bed. The cold chill of morn pervaded the atmosphere with its savage ferocity, goosebumps erupting around Riza's bare arms. Finished with her task, she walked towards the dark brown table, its surface scratched, burned and old from fierce use. The mirror on top of it reflected a pale and thin young woman, her golden hair in disarray, dark bags under her eyes and chapped lips. Her faded blue kirtle, smudged with dirt and grease and tatty from extreme use. It was the only dress Riza had. And as she looked around her room, all reality erupted. She was poor, she had no home, she had no better clothes, no better shoes. She had never played with dolls, nor had she ever worn any jewelry. The blue dress was the only dress she had, along with the shoes sitting by the side of her bed, made out of leather and canvas.

She had no family, no friends, not even pets.

Grabbing her shoes, Riza slipped them on and proceeded to straighten her dirty and rumpled hair. As she fought an enduring curl, the inky black sky began to disappear as the fervent yellow light of the sun swathed through it. The wood below her made creaky noises as she went out of her quarters and into the courtyard that lay beyond it. The green grass shimmered like emeralds and the cool wind blew at her hair as she made her way to the large manor where she worked. As she passed by the granite fountain, a young bird bathed in its effervescing water. Oh how she longed to be as free as that young bird! Facing her reality, Riza hurried her pace and was met by two large mahogany doors with ornate carvings and gold knobs. Two leviathan statues flanked the door. On her right was a beautiful lady, her head high and her back straight, gown flowing down. The statue looked as if it was facing a myriad of enemies and none could subdue her. To the left was a regal young man, his head high like the other statue but instead of the defiant form of the other, his was of royal superiority. The statue's hands held a sword pointed to the ground and the man was draped in a long cloak, boots to his knees and an armor of some type combed his torso. The statue on the left had one of his hands pointed towards the long corridor beside it, the other statue its hand pointing to the dark forest that was yonder.

Riza marveled at their elegance when sounds from inside woke her from her reveries. Hand on one knob, she entered the manor and was met by the chamberlain. As usual, the chamberlain sat on one of the velvet chairs, his feet sprawled on the carpeted floor. A plate, full of food, sat on his thighs as he continued to devour it. All the while, he proceeded to shout orders and unreasonable commands. Having spotted her, the chamberlain excluded no one.

"Oi! Riza, you lump! Get in here and do some work, you filth! We don't need some lazy bitch around here! Get in here, you filthy animal!" His words had lost their painful sting, with Riza accustomed to it for most of her life. Knowing she was just a servant and powerless to object, she had became resigned. Heeding her master's orders, Riza scurried past the bloated man and began cleaning after him. Without losing her step, Riza hurried into the kitchen to get the plates washed and help prepare the breakfast of the noble family. For twenty-nine years, Riza had served the Mustang family without complaint, even when the chamberlain falsely accused the staff with the many household problems of the manor. Being a maid, Riza had never seen any of the Mustang family. Only the chamberlain and the cleaning staff was allowed to leave the kitchens and enter the rest of the manor.

Commoners were not worthy enough to be graced with the presence of nobility, especially the Mustang family, as was the belief of the staff and servants. They were the rulers of Tuscany, Italy. Jewelers from Paris, clergymen from the Vatican, aristocrats from St. Petersburg all come to the rich land to marvel at the splendor and elegance at which the House of Mustang ruled. Florence was the Mt. Olympus of Art, the Heaven of Paintings, the Palace of Beauty. People from around the world flock together to examine the marvelous ambrosia of Donatello, Boticelli, Sanzio, Da Vinci and Michelangelo. Oh how beautiful Florence was! If only Riza was as fortunate as those who walk royally into the many art galleries of Florence. She would never have to work again! Alas, 'tis but a dream so unreachable.

Riza entered the kitchens and saw the head cook prepare a delicious Italian cuisine, with its savoringly alluring bellpeppers, black peppers, spices, tomatoes and other additives. There were several pieces of half-baked dough, waiting for the luscious coriander to be poured over and soon be baked by the roaring fire by the wall. Bread, toasted to a perfect golden brown and sprinkled with pepper, was set next to the bowl full of scrumptious grapes, strawberries and apples. Riza's stomach growled in hunger. She hadn't eaten breakfast yet. With all due haste, Riza tied an apron around her waist, grabbed a piece of bread and proceeded to help Signora Gracia.

Signora Gracia was probably the only female person in the staff that she can consider an 'acquaintance'. Acquaintance, since Riza always kept to herself and never got involved with other people. Acquaintance, since Riza never allowed herself to get attached, to be close to other people, to socialize. Signora Gracia and her relationship would be what to others as 'civil harmony'. A kind of relationship that only encompasses business and work. Obviously, since Riza was illiterate, never knowing how to read and write, the kind of 'business' she may have is actually just menial tasks.

Without further ado, Riza swept past the pans, pots, food and the strainers and into the baking room where Signora Gracia was kneading dough and making them into dainty, and well-crafted pies. The woman's back was turned to Riza, unbeknownst to her arrival. On the counter were the kneaded doughs and other utensils. A wide, russet colored pan was filled with coriander mixed with peppers and cheese. To the side was a large armoire, its handles gold, jewels embedded on it. Two statues decorated the room. On on side, parallel to where Riza stood, was a statue of a knight, all armor, sword by the hand, helmet visor pushed down, cloak draped over his shoulders. The other statue stood to Riza's right, next to the armoire. It was a woman, her veil flowing, robes billowing. Her arms were spread apart, hands open as if beckoning to come to her. Her head was tilted to the side a bit, face soft and kind. Behind the statue was a soaring window, glazed windowpanes pouring the morning light into the room. The statue of the lady almost looked ethereal, almost ghostlike, almost divine. From the whispers, the talks she had heard in the past when she worked in the kitchens, Riza knew this statue was the Most Holy Virgin.

The idea of a venerated being who was impeccably perfect and pure, who gave birth to the Saviour, who was to reign at the side of her son on the world was stunning. Riza always heard the whispered prayers of the people when she passed the many cathedrals and churches on her way to the market. For Riza, this act of veneration was quite ludicrous. If there was some omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent Lord who was so merciful that He died for the souls of men, then He was probably drunk. Because, there was no way that any god would inflict this kind of horror unto his people, Riza thought bitterly. Ignoring the pain that mentally stabbed her heart, Riza straightened her face and made a formal greeting.

"_Buongiorno_, signora." The lady almost jumped in shock at Riza's flat voice. Signora Gracia turned around, her hand on her chest, the other holding a kitchen knife for self-defense. Dark blond hair cupped her face, plump and soft; riveting jade green eyes stared at her with shock and fear mixed. When the Signora recognized Riza, she sighed loudly and lowered her hands. A faint trace of dough clung to the frills of her walnut dress. Signora Gracia smiled softly at her.

"Elizabeth, come help me prepare breakfast." She beckoned to the food on the table. Riza nodded and hastily helped the Signora with the coriander and the baking of the pies. After a while, Riza noticed that the food was more than the amount of a usual morning meal. Nonplussed, Riza turned to the Signora, who was also occupied with the red wine for the pies. Several bottles were on the table and the Signora was busy choosing which was more delectable and would go well with the pies.

"Signora, _scusami_, why is the breakfast for the Royal family more larger today? It is most unusual." Riza questioned. Signora Gracia looked up, set the wine glass down and smiled at the confusion written all over the face of a woman who was usually cool and composed.

"Have you not heard, Elizabeth?" The Signora raised a brow. Riza, more confused than ever, shook her head. "What?"

"Lord Mustang of the House of Mustang, the heir apparent to the Grand Duchy of Tuscany is arriving this morning from Paris. Do you not remember the Duke of Florence?" Riza suddenly recalled a faraway place, with time frozen. She saw vivid green fields and towering mountains. Saw a calm, ultramarine blue sea and heard the sounds of the wind against the tall stalks of grass. She saw a strong, tall and majestic white horse. Its saddle was amethyst, with a very familiar crest. A man sat on the horse, back straight and chin raised. Midnight black hair swayed with the wind, blue-black eyes surveyed the scene. A top hat, Victorian-styled, with a crimson red feather attached, held most of his head. A blood red cloak was draped all over his shoulders, covering the black waistcoat in which the man wore. Slightly tanned hands held the reins of the horse tightly, his left wearing a golden ring with a large emerald that shined in the light of the sun.

Unconsciously, Riza replied, "Yes, I remember.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Enter the Gates to The City of the Four Saints

* * *

The wind was slow and rhythmic, its cadence a humming music to his ears. The early morning light turned the dark, purplish sky to a light blue hue. Velvet, gray clouds swam lazily, the songs of the morning birds around. From where his horse stood, he could see a dark, looming shadow between two mountains. A series of black structures trailed below the gargantuan edifice and down the slope. A dark line, almost like a crack in the ground, circumscribed the behemoth shadow in a large circle.

It was the Palazzo della Quattro Santa, his ancestral home.

For many epochs and generations, the House of Mustang had ruled the whole of Tuscany as Grand Duchy from the leviathan palace between the mountains. From the patriarch of the bloodline, Grand Duke Grigorio de Mustang and his wife Grand Duchess Anastasia Fevorona, down the centuries, from the 1490s, to his father, the current Grand Duke: Leonardo della Mustang and his mother, the Grand Duchess Vittoria Gevena. The great ancient family had overseen trade, commerce, agriculture, development and stability throughout Tuscany. Invasions a many; from the cold North; the mystic East; the enlightened West and the tribal South, all fell to the might of the Grand Duchy.

Commanding his horse, Duke Roy Mustang rode downwards. Towards his home. Behind him was his escort of guards and servants, all wearing the uniform of the Grand Duchy: Silver chain mails below blood red tunics with the family crest on it, a large hawk swooping down, as if catching its prey; black boots, topped by white trousers with a small array of weapons. With his crimson cloak billowing, the Duke swept down the slope and into the mouth of the valley: the entrance to the city.

The Citta della Quattro della Quattro Santa

The name of the city in English was The City of the Four Saints. It had derived its name from an old legend, where four saints: Saint Margaret, Saint Catherine, Saint Peter and Saint Veronica, were supposed to have passed the valley on holy duties. For respect and reverence, the settlers of the valley constructed a soaring and magnificent palace meant to deify the four saints. In their complete deference, multiple churches and cathedrals were built, all dedicated to the saints. Even from afar, Roy could already make out the towering buildings.

The air was cold, the grass damp as the hooves of his horse stomped them. Beneath his leather gloves, his hands were wet with sweat. Roy swayed as the horse slowly made its way towards the village, his escort trailing behind them. They passed large trees, their trunks thick and their leaves sprouting; they passed flowers, rocks, birds and cattle, all waking to the morning air. It was still early. Roy could have waited until tomorrow to leave for his home. He didn't have much to do in this kind of place. If he wanted to achieve his goal of becoming someone powerful, he had to have means in-between high and powerful officials. That was the reason why he had left for Paris. He had been invited by the French Interim Head of State, Louis Jules Trochu, to discuss on the royal matters that were pricking at the sides of the French people. In the end, the Grand Duchy had pledged its alliance with the French people. Now, two powerful demesnes had been transformed into one, making them quite powerful. Both Italy and France were world powers, having achieved most of the national requirements to become an influential nation.

Hence why he had to come back to the palace. He has to inform the whole House of the agreement. Unbelievable! The Duke of Florence, informing the House of Mustang as if some kind of messenger! Such act was so demeaning, so belittling that it called for a death so horrid, so unimaginable that even Satan himself would cringe in repugnance.

Cursing under his breath, Roy's horse tottered past the fauna and flora, past the large river and over the stone bridge, past the Home Guards saluting him and stopped in front of massive gates flanked by magnificent walls of steel and stone. Archers, their bows ready and locked, stood on guard on top of the walls. A towering banner, white with the House symbol on it in magnificent red, wavered with the wind behind the ever ready guards. From one of the twin watchtowers, a guard looked down and saluted to Roy. He then informed the guards holding the gate to open. The monolithic gates were tall; made from the sturdiest and most expensive of all kinds of wood; with ornate carvings in them, the gates were sandwiched between two gold statues of angels, both with swords and pointing them towards the gates as if they were the entrance to Heaven. When the gates opened, it made a creaking sound, betraying the age of the structure despite its still innovative design.

Behind him, his entourage stopped within allotted distance; they were halted several feet from the Duke.

The gates hung to the sides, its precious treasure open to the world beyond. For several eras, the Mustang family had guarded these lands and the people within it. The monumental walls had been, in fact, built several centuries before. The City had been protected from foreign invaders and barbaric marauders by the efforts of the first of the Mustangs, Duke Grigorio de Mustang, and those who have inherited the Scepter after his death. Little by little, the once quiet Citta della Quattro Santa became a leading center in the region of Tuscany, matched only by its own sister city of Florence.

Beyond him, beyond the gates, was the City.

The roads were all made of stone, intertwining with others to make a labryinth of roads and paths and alleys all over the city. Spiraling towers and edifice, created through heavy masonry and construction, stood as if trying to reach the sky like the famed Tower of Babel. People went past, busy minding their businesses as they swept through carts and statues and fountains and stores. Some horses, their riders either engaged in conversation with other people or sitting idly and watching beneath top hats, stood silently against the expansive Piazza de San Catherine. It was still quite early. Only a few were bustling around the Piazza. The Piazza was large and oval shaped, a great and marvelous fountain sat in its center, surrounded by benches and an array of statues. These statues were venerated saints and angels in their belief of Christianity. It has been a tradition in the Mustang family that for every new Grand Duke, another statue was to be added, one that was not in the Piazza yet.

There were six statues around the great fountain.

The fountain had been brought to creation during the reign of Grand Duchess Elizaveta, the great-granddaughter of Duke Grigorio de Mustang. It was called the _Welt Ende_, or World's End. It has always puzzled the minds of Elizaveta's descendants as to why she named a landmark of the city in German rather than her native Italian. Some thought of her act as betrayal towards her land of birth. However, the reason was soon disclosed when Elizaveta's brother, Luis Alessandro della Savoy, became Grand Duke upon her death as was stated in her will. The fountain was named in honor of Elizaveta's lover, who died due to consumption several weeks after they were married. In her grief, Elizaveta ordered the construction of the fountain, something that her lover had wanted to be a wedding gift to her. She had named it _Welt Ende_, for the moment her lover died, her world had ended. The Grand Duchess never remarried and never had children. Luckily, when Luis Alessandro inherited the Scepter, he had an heir apparent.

Ambling past the gates and into the Piazza, Roy went straight to the looming Palazzo overhead, upwards the slope and into the flat lands that rested on the foot of the mountains. As he went, he passed several of the royal statues. Roy recalled vividly the names of these statues and which Grand Duke had them made. The first one was the statue of St. Helena of Constantinople. Elegant and refined and noble in the way she had found the True Cross, the statue was from Grand Duke Grigorio de Mustang. The second was St. Jeanne D'Arc, immaculate as ever in her glorious battle armor, prepared to fight for all France and all that was the Lord's. Placed by the son of Grigorio de Mustang. Third was the angel Metatron, with wings of white and robes flowing. A grand halo sat on his head. By the mother of Grand Duchess Elizaveta. Elizaveta, upon taking the Scepter, also added a statue; the twin of Metatron: Sandalphon. Venerated as the 'tall angel' and the 'left hand cherub of the Ark', Sandalphon was as similar as to his brother, complete with the sword and the wings. St. Agnes was fifth, patron of chastity and the Lamb. Young, sweet and pure, the statue stood with the morning light around her like a golden blanket. The last was the statue placed when his father gained the rule. Similar to St. Jeanne D'Arc, this one had the divine battle armor, equipped with the fiery sword of God and the shield of Heaven. His wings were positioned as if prepared to strike the Devil himself. His coat was billowing, the light of the sun on it as if it was all the good in the world. A majestic halo, with the seven rays pointed in every direction, the Latin words of the _Our Father_ embedded on them. The words _'Agnus Dei'_ was imprinted on his sword, a true servant of the Almighty.

Standing there, in all his glory and power, was the Archangel Michael.

Without any ceasing, Roy sped up towards the marble bridge beyond the Piazza. Through the bridge, past the magnificent slope and the onslaught of stairs was the Palazzo della Quattro Santa. The royal entourage crossed past the bridge, past its granite structure and was met by the marvelous slope. The slope was evergreen, with untold numbers of diverse flowers and plants. A stone road, complete with statues from kings to scientists on their stone pedestals placed on the edges of the road, their hands pointing towards the end of the road, towards the Palazzo. Vines crumpled beneath the hooves of horses as the Duke and his royal escort made their way in the direction of the Palazzo. Some of the guards met them nearby, bowing their heads and putting their fists on their chest, saluting the Duke. Ravens flew overhead, crying loudly for their mates.

The whole journey had been tiring for Roy. Once he had informed the House of the agreement, he was going to seek the comfort of women. With their luscious body and bulging bosoms beneath tight corsets and extravagant gowns, their face thick with paint and their hair curled viciously. Their high-pitched voices feigning ignorance and innocence, masking the wild savagery within them when they had gotten the eye, and the bed, of the Duke. Right now, all Roy could think was the big bed in his room in the palace, thick and soft and ready for another night of debauchery. Lost in a haze of lust, Roy could already feel the swell of his manhood pushing back the fly on his trousers. There, there. We're almost there, Roy silently told his manhood.

When they finally reached the end of the slope, the resplendent palace was a colossus among statues, a lord among commoners, a god among mere mortals. The palace was dome-shaped, with extensions in an outward motion. The main bulk of the palace, where the Grand Hall was, took most of the dome shape. Behind it was the Monarch's Tower, a large, wide and extensive tower that scaled monumental heights. The surrounding extensions, also dome-shaped, tall and wide, made up the Reception Hall, the Petitioners' Hall, the Dining Hall and the Monarch's Archives. It was tradition for past rulers to add a new tower or turret to the palace. A singular tower stood on one of the tall and steep mountainside, unreachable from below and only connected by a bridge from the Monarch's Tower. The tower was the Observatory. A great story had came from where the tower was created. The legend tells of a woman who had loved to look at the stars on that particular landing on the mountainside. Every night, she would leave the palace, undetected, and climb a secret trail towards the mountainside. She would do it every night. However, that time was filled with the hysteria of witchcraft and black sorcery due to the drought that had come. When people began noticing the noblewoman leaving every night, they thought she was a sorceress casting evil spells on the land, causing the drought. So, they followed her, captured her and stoned her to death. When the whole House at that time found her remains, her husband, the Grand Duke, ordered the town to be razed to the ground. Mad with grief, The Duke ordered her body blessed and buried in that same spot. After several years, the Duke found his wife's journal, where she wrote on what she had seen at the sky at that time. Through eternal love and gratitude, the Duke commanded a tower to be built on his wife's grave; a tower where he could always see the stars and be reminded of his love for the rest of his days.

The palace's top was a light blue color, complementing the faded brown color of the marble walls. The Palazzo was backed by endless green forests beyond and a river flowed on one of the mountainsides, with a waterfall nearby, just a little beyond the Observatory. Even in the morning rays of the sun, the palace held such breathtaking beauty and bravura that even Roy, who had lived in the palace ever since his birth, was still halted by its wonder. Most artists and critics from all over the world even called the Palazzo della Quattro Santa as the 'Diamond Rose'.

But, even through the splendor of the palace, Roy could still feel the cozy atmosphere, the filial love of the family. Roy could almost hear his mother, the Grand Duchess, waking him and asking if he wanted breakfast in bed. He could almost smell the baked dough and the sumptuous meal that awaited him. He could already see his father reading a letter from the millions, while drinking tea and patting the family dog's head.

Roy smiled. He was home.

* * *

Author's Note: I have one last information to give for this chapter. The palace's design is actually based on the _**Theed Royal Palace**_ in Star Wars. If you hadn't seen it, search an image in any search engine in the Internet. Or better yet, go to starwars . wikia . com and search for it directly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Intertwinement

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The sound of Duke Roy de Mustang's polished black boots, with its silver buckle and a gold lining on its heels, on marble floor reverberated clearly through the tall and granite and extravagantly embossed pillars. Sunlight poured from the towering glass windows, their gold panes alight with the morning sight. Large and ancient paintings, frescoes to be exact, of the past royal duchies hanged stiffly and supremely atop the beautiful pillars. Marvelous and daunting, Roy strutted past the servants greeting him "good morning"s and "welcome back"s with a small nod. Being Duke, he had to at least acknowledge people in order to not lose their confidence in their leaders.

The blood red cloak behind him billowed as he walked swiftly. Slowly, though, Roy took a moment to once again amuse himself with the splendor of the palace. The walls were made of marble, carved by the most finest of architects. With its deep grottoes within the walls, armored knights on pedestals; swords placed in a victorious position; stood and stared past the empty hallways. When Roy was young, he had always felt a little unnerved in the presence of these statues. He always expected one of them to walk and slice him with the sword. Now, he felt like an utter fool for being scared in the first place. And without losing stride, Roy marched proudly as he saw exquisite paintings and artifacts on either walls or on stone podiums, walked on thickly designed carpets and caressed flowing banners that had been placed for the sake of nobility.

Roy entered a large and spacious room and found himself in front of the Staircase. The Staircase was like any staircase, except it was made of stone, its banister of gold with tiny angels sculpted on it and it was the largest staircase he had ever seen. Scaling a height of 20 feet and a width of about 10 meters, Roy could imagine the whole sect of priests filling the staircase and not even reaching 1/4 of it. Facing the Staircase, Roy breathed in a small amount of air and suddenly, began his awful climb up the Staircase, with its 120 or more steps.

Upon reaching the top of the first part, Roy stopped and panted. His muscles were trembling and he could feel his legs heating up. He had been riding all morning, he had forgotten to do his usual exercise. A small table, covered in a dark blue cloth sewn in gold thread. A small alabaster vase, with azaleas overflowing from it, sat on top next to a small imitation of a Christian Relic: The True Cross. A chair, similar to the table, sat to the side. Tired, and ready to fall, Roy trudged towards the chair and slumped down on it. Roy was so tired, he could practically sleep in this chair. His exhaustion, aside from the tiring flight of stairs, came from the fact that Roy woke before dawn to leave Rome and arrive at the Citta della Quattro Santa. Straining his hearing, Roy could also hear his stomach grumbling.

_Great! Now I'm hungry!_

A small thump sounded in his ears. Someone was coming up the stairs. Back to the usual way he carries himself, Roy sat up straighter and pulled back his cold and aristocratic aura. He was sure of it now. It was a servant.

* * *

Riza was bringing up another plate of the family's breakfast. She had no idea whatsoever about what had compelled the chamberlain to order her to serve the food personally. Usually, it was he himself who does it. Now, Riza was the one bringing the food up. Another dilemma crossed her mind. The Staircase. Even from afar, it was still daunting. Riza now had to make a decision: suffer climbing the stairs or risking humiliation and loss of dignity if she failed to do as the chamberlain commanded.

She looked around. No one was in the vicinity. Couldn't she just leave the plate with someone else? No. For all she know, she could be asking the Grand Duke himself to carry his own food. Then again, that was more embarrassing. And disrespectful. And consequential. Mustering her courage, and her strength, she decided to climb the Staircase. After all, she still had her pride. She was not going to be insulted within everyone's sight just because she refused to deliver a plate of food to the family. No, she had to prove herself capable of such a task. Even if it was as menial as cleaning the stables. She was willing to prove to everyone that she was not going to accept being mistreated and abused like some kind of hog. No! She was going to stand up for herself and what she believed in! Even if it meant her life. Everything was supposed to be fair, was it not? Everyone was supposed to get a chance at happiness! Even her.

The tears of regret and pain surfaced into her dark brown eyes. Angrily, she wiped them all away with her free hand. She stopped on the step. She had no idea why she just did that. Even if it was just in her mind, she had revolted against the fixed social system of the Grand Duchy. How could she have ever thought that? The Grand Duchy accepted her and gave her food and shelter. What was a lifetime of loneliness in return to being given a chance at life? She had been granted a life free from the harmful nature of the world. In this city, she was given a place to stay and food to eat. She was not left out in the rain, or begging money for food. What was her heart to her survival? What was her dreams and goals, when her life meant more to her than anything?

The soft, radiant light penetrated deeply into the very recesses of her soul. This was her life. From her birth, from the moment that she knew she was just an abandoned orphan left in front of the gates of the city and perhaps, till the day she died. Back to the indifference she always had, Riza continued her trek towards the stairhead. As she made her way up, Riza caught a fleeting glance of dark, ebony hair. Curious, Riza climbed higher.

She was met by midnight black eyes, dark as the night that enveloped the land when the sun set. He was larger than life, metaphorically. His eyes burned with purpose and dignity and life that she could almost feel her heart hammering against her chest. Even just the sight of those eyes filled with determination was enough to make Riza want a better life and a better future. Want a small gift of light into her dark world. A shining star amidst the charcoal firmament. That was what the life in his eyes meant to her. Though she was servant, she was as human as anyone was. Recalling whispers of fellow workers and sometimes the talks of the chamberlain, Riza knew of this man. Knew of his ability to gaze deeply into someone's soul and know what their own deepest wishes.

Without doubt, Riza was staring into the eyes of the Duke of Florence.

And, as perfectly as she could while holding the plate, Riza made the most perfect and the most courteous bow.

* * *

Roy stared disappointedly at the woman bowing before him. She was just as ordinary as anyone expected. He was hoping that the servant, the woman, that was climbing the stairs would be at least attractive enough to earn her his bed. Now, he was tired,hungry and dissatisfied. Speaking in the coldest and most aloof way possible in exquisite and straight Italian, with a hint of a demeaning tone, Roy ordered her away.

"You are free to go. Leave now. Do not disturb me."

Surprisingly, the woman before him bowed deeper and stood up straight. Her eyes were the color of dark honey and her hair was as yellow as the light of the sun. However, when he expected her to act hurt and offended and sad, the woman just stared blankly at him; lifeless and empty.

"Yes, my Lord."

And like the ghost of the past; like a cold autumn breeze; like an abandoned hat on the road, the woman stiffly walked past him. But, when the woman was out of sight, out of the stairtop and was now climbing another set of stairs, Roy sensed something. The woman who had just past him, who had bowed reverently and who Roy ordered so crudely away, had been as lifeless as her eyes.

She was empty.

* * *

_Author's Note: All right. That is all that I can write for this day/night. It amuses me that the reviews keep on getting higher. Please, I beg you to not stop! I want more and more and more of these reviews. And I want deep ones, ones that are really helpful to me. You know how hard it is to coincide real events, real people, real timeline with utopian settings, time lines, events, people and connections. I even drew up Roy's family tree, whose patriarch was a relative and the sole heir after the Medici family's rule ended. Mon Dieu, it is all tiring. Yet rewarding._

_BTW, I'm not quite sure if this will be finished but the story "Child of the Dark Morn" is actually the beginning of trilogy I had in mind. You won't believe that the whole idea came up to me while watching Pirates of the Caribbean and reading the DaVinci Code. Its all so abstract and vague. Like ice cream, and chocolate, and pizza._

_Hoping to post the fourth chapter soon,  
Alessandro von Einzeberneg_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Breakfast with the Royal Duchy.

Author's Note: To everyone,

Please forgive me for this long-overdue chapter. It had been a tiring week of assignments, projects, examinations and lessons. Goodness Gracious, what the hell is probability and propulsion?! Anyway, on with the story.

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The Dining Hall was cavernous, to say the least. With a stunning length of 908 meters, the height of more than 300 meters and the width being about a mere shy of 100; the Dining Hall was like a gaping mouth, ready to gobble all who enter. Black granite and white marble swept the ground in jumbles of circles, zigzagging here and there, overlapping others in mystifying circles. Majestically lofty pillars supported the ample ceiling, ornamented with chandeliers of brilliant emeralds, diamonds, rubies and garnets. Busts of honorable men, from Galileo Galilei to Vincent Van Gogh, stood on decorated pedestals off to the sides, next to thin and soaring windows. Large portraits of the Mustang family hung stiffly on buttresses. Innumerable numbers of furniture, ranging from Queen Anne Chairs to beautifully carved tables. Servants, in uniforms of red laced in black with the family insignia on their center, passed him with bows and deferential nods. In the center of the hall, a large table, larger than any normal table, sat.

It was made from the finest of wood, covered in sleek designs and ornamented by tiny precious gems on the sides. Thick cloth, made from silk and heavily threaded with expensive nylon, was mapped all over the table. Loads of food, in pots, pans and plates, swept on the table surface like atrocious sea monsters rising to wreak havoc. Toasted bread, meat pies, coffee, early morning cuisines and jugs of water made up like constellations amongst the sky. Candles burned fervently like worshiping servants, nonstop and undying.

Behind the table, on a high chair that exceeded others, sat an elderly man. He had raven black hair, hair that shone like midnight. A few gray strands were now appearing by his temples. He had a mustache and sported a violet tunic and black trousers. A large bloodred ring embraced his index while a simple gold band hugged his ring finger. A silver necklace, with a cross as its design, hung around his neck. He was impressive and commanding. Regal and lethal. But beneath dark eyes and furrowed brows, a burning affection blazed within them.

Just as always, Roy grinned broadly at his father.

"_PAPA! Ho Perso Voi! Come e tutti? Come e stai? Dove e madre?_" Roy asked with due excitement. His father stood hastily and embraced his son. Roy felt his father's arms tighten around him and he could hear his muffled cry of joy. Roy knew the feeling of missing his family. He felt it on countless occasions.

"_Mi sento bene. E cos tutti_. How about you, my son? Are you well? Have you not any sickness or any malady which our fine doctors cannot remedy?" His father inquired it in a jesting manner, but Roy saw and heard the underlying tone of concern. Feeling joyful at such love for him, Roy heartily laughed and embraced his father as his response. The Grand Duke didn't even hesitate to return the gesture.

The Grand Duke Leonardo led his son to the chairs and made Roy sit. To appease his ever-doting father, Roy picked up two pieces of toasted bread, a slab of the sumptuous meat pie and a steaming cup of coffee. He ate hungrily as his father smiled at him. Without warning, a frenzied paw found its way to his face. The sharp jolt of pain made him choke on his cup of coffee and Roy gasped as he tried to repair the damage. After a few wheezing and a bit of spitting, Roy turned to his father; who was trying his best to not laugh. Roy raised an eyebrow over glaring eyes. His father pointed to the floor. Roy looked down.

He was staring into guilty brown eyes.

The Royal Pooch, otherwise known as Alexander, was sitting on the floor, ears drooping, eyes pleading. Alexander was obviously the mastermind of the choking ordeal. There had been several moments in Roy's life that the dog had, on more than one occasion, been the judge of Roy's life. When the dog had cavortingly did something to him, Roy had either been nearly killed or hurt. Sometimes, Roy wondered if the dog wanted him dead. But, Roy had never even hurt the dog once. Not for show of superiority but out of love. The Royal Pooch had been in the family from Roy's birth as a gift from the Baron d'Savoy. It has always fascinated Roy how this golden haired dog, with the innocent eyes, seemed to be a great prankster. Whenever Roy had been down in the past, the dog would lick his face; scratch his arm; bite his shirt or even trip a passing servant to humor him. The dog had been Roy's most faithful friend. He loved animals, but he loved Alexander more.

"You evil, conniving, traitorous, maleficent, sadistic, nefarious, hellish, unbearable, incorrigible, stubborn, annoying, irritating, demanding, devious, deceitful, murderous, atrocious monster! That is the 306th time you've tried to kill me! I am NOT going to let you go this time!" Devoid of ceremony, Roy lunged at the dog. It was a crucial mistake. The dog had been prepared and leaped in time for Roy to hit and lie sprawled over the floor. In response, Roy grabbed at the dog's collar. It jumped out of the way and landed on Roy's back. The full weight of the dog on his back, coupled with the exertion of lunging at it, overwhelmed Roy as he was tackled to the ground. His father's merry laugh erupted and Roy cringed in humiliation and indignation. He turned his head and glared at the dog. The dog's tail wagged as it licked his cheek and barked at him.

"Great. I got beaten by the dog. For the 306th time." Roy muttered heatedly.

Amidst massive humiliation and sadistic defeat, amidst indignation and rage, Roy smiled and laughed along. He was home. He was safe. Until the doors opened.

Standing there, in a simple white gown with gold lace, made of soft velvet and light thread, flowing and toppling down the floor was the Grand Duchess. With her thick mane of red hair and bright, keen eyes of brilliant emerald, the Grand Duchess Vittoria Gevena gaped at the commotion. Roy's beauteous and beloved mother never failed to astound him with her ever-present poise and elegance. Even by just standing there, in immaculate white cloth and gold lace, she looked so regal and majestic. Though she was past the phase of youth, Roy could clearly see the angelic beauty his father always talked about. Even from afar, the Grand Duchess looked like she could rule the world. The faint lines of wrinkling on her face didn't diminish her beauty, it only added more.

"Roy? Is that you, my son? Roy! It is you!" The Grand Duchess, never losing the gracefulness which was her, ran to Roy with waiting arms. He pushed Alexander off and stood to give his mother a hug. Like always, Roy felt the familiar feeling of home in the embrace. He truly was home.

* * *

They talked about their adventures and the things that had occurred on each other's absence. Events and memories swam by as the ducal family engaged in simple conversation and in the delectable food. Maids and servants passed by as they took the plates, brought in food, fetched letters and the such. Roy had never felt so content and happy in his life.

He stared through the windows to watch the gray clouds waltzing in the sky, like the paintings of Boticelli. Birds chirped as they flew in all directions, either alone or with their mate. Roy slumped on the supple chair, with its velvety silk and comfortable cushion. His hand twirled at the pen on his left hand as he continued to gaze at the benevolently glorious firmament. Leaning on his table, Roy glared at the most disgusting and repugnant thing of all time. It was horrible as it was many. Obnoxious as it was devilish. In all his life, Roy had never felt such dislike, such abhorrence, such undying animosity to what was now standing proud and tall on his table. Not even the Devil himself could make Roy feel such intense aversion.

There were stacks of paperwork on his table. And there were many.

Sighing angrily, Roy took the first piece of paper and began to read it. He tried understanding what was in it, ordering his mind to absorb what his eyes took in.

_"ADMINISTRATION OF THE NEW DEFENSE DEPARTMENT IN FLORENCE_

_-The new defense department of Florence has recently established its foundation at Block 4..."_

Roy didn't even care what in the world the new department of defense was about.

_"...starting this 13th of October, 1867. Commander Vellirin has stated several details pertaining to the investigation on a recently selected case. Order for new legislative commands on behalf of the Florentine Police Department has been lawfully legitimized and is currently being processed in the national Branch of Justice in Milan. However, notorious..."_

Bored, and uninterested, Roy signed the paper as proof of the family's acceptance. As Duke of Florence, it was part of Roy's job to ensure, verify and authorize various orders and forms relating to the administrative, judicial and legislative bodies of Florence. Whether be it as insignificant as the opening of a bakery, or as important as the dispensing of justice to a noble, Roy was responsible for accounting and recording everything that was legitimized. And he continued to do this for the past years. Groaning, he pulled another piece.

_"VERIFICATION ON THE JUDICIAL DECISION ON THE ROMAN FANATICS"_

Roy signed the bottom of the paper.

_"ESTABLISHMENT OF TUSCAN VINEYARDS"_

Signed that, too.

_"REPORT ON THE ACCOUNT OF THE GOODS ARRIVED FROM BRITAIN"_

Sheer joy, if Roy was only dead.

After a few more papers, Roy had stopped reading and just scribbled his signature directly. All he had to do was just legitimize, it was the judicial body that took care on the investigation on the establishment. So, technically, he was doing his job perfectly. Taking another one, Roy directly moved his hand to bottom to sign when the title of the report caught his eye.

_"PUBLIC STATEMENT OF THE RUSSIAN CZAR ON DEATH OF TSAREVICH"_

Curious, Roy read on.

_"The Czar has publicly announced the unfortunate death of heir apparent, Tsarevich Nicholas Aleksandrovich Romanov, due to unknown reasons. Russian doctors concluded rheumatism as lead suspect for the Tsarevich's death. Princess Marie Sophie of Denmark is distraught at fiance's death, along with the whole of the Romanov family. The Czar, along with the Czarina Maria Alexandrovna, is inviting the Ducal family for the son's funeral. Several matters pointing towards the Tsarevich's demise has spurred numerous officials to investigate on the matter at hand. Concluding matters include investigation throughout Western Europe and into the far reaches of the Chinese K..."_

Roy stared at the photograph of the young man who was to become Czar. Roy knew that the Italian State was not in good terms with the Russians. He knew the family, and the Monarch, had to know of this. Late actions may result in dire consequences. Fully sober, Roy stood from his seat and, with the paper in hand, went out of his room to look for his father.

_

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_Author's Note: Oh god. This was, in a way, awesome and a bit confusing. Especially when the facts finally arrived. God, it was tiring to write down those forms along with the Russian casualty._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Imperium of Purgation

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"Is this it?" The man behind the dark glasses nodded. His head was dominated by a top hat, his body by a black suit up to his wrists. Gold buttons glared at her, even in the dark.

It was a glorious night for purging.

"Are you sure? Are you really sure?" She asked again, her voice colder and filled with authority.

"Yes, _signora_." The man said without hesitation. She sighed. She has to trust his word for it. If he was wrong, her plans would all go to ruin. If he was wrong, she would make him pay severely. He would pay with his life and soul.

"_Dann, verlassen sie eventuell_. I will call on you if I need more proof." The man bowed, thanked her and left silently. She commended him. He stuck to his promise. He was able to decipher the controversy and actually brought her the existence of an heir. However, when he finally outlived his usefulness, she had to execute him. She couldn't do with a loose end. She hated loose ends.

With her gloved hands, she ripped the letter open. Pictures fell from it, scattering on the damp grass underneath her boots. Picking up the hem of her scarlet dress with one hand, she used the other to collect the pictures.

She smirked to herself. She had never deduced that this person, this woman, was the treasure. She had always thought that this person was among the nobles in the Russian homeland. No, she was wrong. She was here, in this ancestral land of the enemy. She had never thought of that.

Rummaging through her bag, she found a lighter. Dobereiner's Lamp, to be exact. The first of its kind. With a flick of her finger, she ignited the photos in a blaze of flames. They curled inward, unable to face the magnificent destruction withering them. In a matter of few seconds, the remains of the photos were blown by the wind, forever lost to Time's unflinching forever.

_Finally_, she thought, _the Rose has appeared._

Her plans were now in motion. The Rose will be exterminated, along with her family. No one will be able to save them. The time for revolution has come.  
Retribution has come.

Quietly chuckling at her own amusement, she threw the still blazing lighter behind her. As she calmly walked away, past the gates and into the empty street beneath the luminous moon, the flames behind her rose to its majestic zenith. The mansion behind her was ablaze. To her delight, the screams of the burning family cleaved the silent night.

_Another band of heathens decimated. Oh Lord, you shall be praised._

Unbelievable annihilation exploded behind her, the screams of heathens an orchestra to her ears. The melodious symphony of death waltzed throughout the midnight sky. No one will be able to hear them. And even if someone did, it would be too late. The mansion would be now in cinders. Yet, if someone was still alive and be able to escape...well, she still had her Ladies' Muff Pistol insid her bag.

She swept along distant fields of growing flowers as the dark smoke of the still-burning manor dwelled among the starry night.

_Another mission, another heathen. Oh, glorious joy!_

It, indeed, was a glorious night for purging.

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	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Awake from Nightmares

_Author's Note: I'm not sure if I can update these following days. Because my exams have just started and I do not want to fail. So, bear patience with me for a while._

_Alessandro_

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_

Lightning flashed, thunders roared. Flashes of light scattered like an enraged swarm through the windows, rampaging across the silent room. The faint smell of dampness permeated all over the room, making her nose itchy. Riza felt around her bed, under the covers and the pillow. Her hand trailed along the side until she felt something cold and sharp. Another flash of lightning. She looked down. It was her knife. She found it.

She gripped it by the black handle tightly, its reflection like a specter among the inky blackness. As still as the statues in the palace, Riza awaited for any sign of movement. She had hear creaking floorboards. Floorboards would only creak when someone stepped on it. Only Riza occupied this room. No one would come here.

Another creak. She stiffened.

Using the shadows at the side of the door, Riza, in one haste movement, sidestepped to the darkness. In her position, she could see anyone coming in and not be seen. Immediately. Her blonde hair was a giveaway, but a moment's hesitation could lead the stranger to a trip towards the Dark Infernal Hell.

The door silently moved on its hinges. Another creak, another flash of lightning. She saw a polished boot with a silver buckle. Whoever it was, it would be someone rich. Or some criminal who killed a rich man and disguised himself. If that was true, then why her? She wasn't important. To anyone for that matter. The stranger would be better off stealing from the nobles. At least he'd get something for himself rather than spare change and worn-out clothing.

One moment of light. Another boot. With the same silver buckle. Riza held her breath.

She could rip the stranger's neck, blood would be spraying in every direction. She could trip him, grab his arm and turn it over his back and slit his throat. She could very well stab him mercilessly. How crude and callous, with no grace. But, somehow, she just held her breath.

The stranger closed the door. He still couldn't see her. He didn't notice her presence. Or the presence of someone staring at him from behind.

More flashes of lightning. She could make out a big physique. Wide shoulders, muscled and exercised. With a matching suit and trousers along his black boots, he stood straight, staring at her empty bed. She stole a gaze to her bed. It was rumpled and chaotic, as if someone had a seizure on it.

Well, it was true for that matter.

Before she woke and heard the creaking floorboards, Riza had a severe nightmare. She didn't know where the bright flames and gunfire came from. It was pandemonium unleashed. It was all black, yet the sounds of battle, of men dying, of horror incarnate was present as if it was actually happening. Riza had no recollection to where the events had originated. She had not seen battles, nor heard gunfire. All she heard most of her life was the chamberlain's insults, Signora Gracia's happy humming and the high-pitched chattering of fellow servants about recent gossip. All she saw most of her life was what was in her routine. The Servants' Quarters, the Kitchens, the forest and the chamberlain's plate.

The stranger made a step towards the small table beside her bed. A candle was standing on it. He was planning to light it. He wouldn't get the chance.

As stealthy as a cat, Riza quietly tiptoed towards the stranger.

_Slit the throat then,_ she thought.

She brought her knife to shoulder level and leveled her hand to grab the stranger by the shoulder.

_One, two, three..._

The candle lighted. Lightning flashed, thunders roared.

She was staring into cold, dark eyes.

She looked down.

A knife was positioned over her neck. He was going to kill her. She was going to kill him first. Without any warning, she thrust her knife into his chest.

She was on the floor, holding her stomach. Growling in pain, she looked up.

And paled.

* * *

Roy watched as the woman with the blonde hair blanched at seeing him. In a way, it kind of unnerved him at how she did that when she saw him. He didn't mean to enter her quarters. She was probably scared to death, hence, the knife and the murderous intent. She was fighting to live.

It was that, while he was walking in the hallway, he heard muffled cries. He followed it, oddly wondering why no one had woken to the noise. It was then that he realized that her room was the farthest, and the most isolated. If she screamed, no one would hear her. No one at all. Even the piercing shriek of a banshee could not penetrate the thick and reinforce walls of the palace. If he hadn't known better, Roy thought that the woman was a liability; a low-asset soldier, as to say. His heart constricted into an unfamiliar feeling at the thought of her plight. He just didn't understand it. Every human being should have a right to his/her own life. A person is entitled to their own security, their own confidence. A person isn't supposed to be like a doll; easily discarded and forgotten. This woman would have killed him without hesitation if it meant her life. He commended anyone with that desire for life.

Suddenly, his mind halted.

_Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Pale skin._

It was the servant who climbed the Staircase and who Roy coldly dismissed. He hadn't recognized her because of the dim light of the candle.

Now, all he felt was shame. Here he was, thinking on how every person has the right to live their own life when he himself orders anyone else as if he was God. He was such a stupid hypocrite. Wanting to redeem himself in her eyes, Roy held out a hand.

"Are you alright, _signora_? I am sorry for doing that to you. I didn't want to get stabbed." Roy smiled a little. The woman stared at him and his hand, torn between decisions. He could see the turmoil in her eyes. She was indecisive between accepting his help or choosing to help herself and be submissive. Somehow, Roy's thoughts turned to a time when their was an uprising in Milan. The people had been pushed to their brink by uncaring leaders, yet they were afraid to revolt and change the order of things. It was like they had no freedom, no life for themselves.

That same turmoil was in her eyes.

She didn't take his hand. Or help herself. What she did was sit up, kneel and bowed her head.

"My lord, forgive me. I was foolish and inept. Please, pardon a servant's inability to comprehend." Her words cut right through his heart like silver knives, their blades pitilessly sharp. Roy had heard battle cries, heard the screams of wives and mothers and daughters as their family was torn apart by men without mercy. He had seen bloodshed and the evil manifestation of war. He had smelled the fragrance of moldering bodies and profuse blood mixed with tears and ashes. He had felt the disgusting aura of evil that haunted him to the bowels of his spirit.

But, he had never heard such finality, such misery coupled with despair. Even the screeches of torn families still held a sliver of hope, as they prayed to God and His angels for a miracle.

Not even bothering to reply to her statement, Roy picked her hand as he pulled her up. She stiffened so quick that Roy thought she had suddenly became a statue. He made a quick overall look on her body. No wounds, no bruises. But, he couldn't be sure. He had punched her in the stomach area. And that was covered by her blue dress.

The woman was staring at the ground. Roy stared at her face. It was there that he fathomed the full form of her. He had judged her to quickly, to fast for any normal human to judge. She was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. No, she IS the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The court ladies he invited to his bed were all painted and synthetic. This woman was beautiful without any alterations on her. With her tumble of blonde hair, caramel eyes and pink lips, she looked like a princess from a fairy tale. He gently placed his hand under her chin and lifted her head to meet his gaze.

"_Signora_, please, are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere?" He inquired softly; using the kind of voice his mother would use on him when he was in pain. The woman was trembling, but her face was set into an impassive mask. Roy sighed. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Roy had finally gotten her to tell him her name when she wouldn't even speak of the pain she was feeling. Though she had stopped trembling, he could still see the ghost of hurt swimming in her eyes. It was more than physical pain. And from there, he had known her more than anyone else. He didn't know how he could think that. He just knew. He was so certain that this woman was blocked by everyone else. No one even bothered to see if she was there, or what she wanted. No one bothered to ask if she had eaten or she had slept. She was as easily forgotten as a fallen leaf on a cold autumn morning.

She looked up when he entered the room. As always, she sharply looked behind him. He was unnerved by her extreme cautiousness. Its as if she was expecting something to happen.

"When was the last time you ate?" She was silent before answering. "Just this morning."

"What did you eat?"

"A piece of bread..." She muttered, her words trailing softly behind.

Roy stood in shock. _A piece of bread...Good God._

He looked down at her dress, which was old and almost threadbare. He couldn't even envisage himself wearing that kind of clothes. Even the beggars outside the city wore decent clothes. But, Elizabeth was...almost comical. It was as if she didn't belong in those kind of clothes. He didn't know what was it about her. It was that there was something noble about her. She didn't even need to do anything to clothe herself in that aura. Every time their eyes met, Roy would sometimes feel as if he should kneel and bow before her.

"And the dress? Why don't you change? It's dirty and worn." Elizabeth smiled an empty smile. There was just nothing in that smile. As was her brown eyes.

"This is my only dress, my lord. Ever since I got it, it was the only thing I could wear. I don't have enough money to buy a new one." Elizabeth casually said as if it was cookies and pies. Roy just stood dumbstruck.

He knew he should do something. This _lady_ was not supposed to be here. No, she was supposed to be somewhere higher than where she was right now. It was all he could do for her. He was too pained by her lifeless haze and indifference to the callousness of the human world.

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_Author's Note: In a way, I am disappointed by this chapter. It almost seems contradictory and paradoxical to the whole story. I'm planning to redeem myself in the following chapters...:(_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Degeneracy

_Author's Note: Yesterday, I had posted the sixth chapter for this installment. Along with it was my sheer disappointment of the result. Chapter 6 had been contradictory, unmatched and obviously blunt and bent onwards to another direction. It seems I was not in a complete and perfect mental condition to construct the sixth chapter. Therefore, I am intent on redeeming myself on the 7th chapter by making it more sublimely dark and decadent._

_Alessandro_

* * *

She turned to her right and entered the modest room. Its beige walls were smudged with dirt and furniture were scattered carelessly on the carpeted floor. Velvet curtains, torn and old, hung stiffly upon curtain rods, hiding tall windows. Food, half-eaten, sat on the small table. All in all, it was a mess. She hated coming to places like this because it made her smell and dirty. She wearily rubbed her hands. Turning her head, she watched her companion enter the room and emotionlessly observe the mess.

"Was this your doing, Countess Varmilla?" The woman that accompanied her was no ordinary woman. The Countess Varmilla was perhaps the most sublimely voluptuous woman she had ever seen. Even the Maitresse felt like dirt compared to this Countess. Tangles of black hair that shone like black diamonds cascaded down her sensual body. Pale and soft skin, as soft as the most expensive silk, was ivory unparalleled. Dark amethyst eyes, ever-cautious, glittered beneath finely crafted eyelashes and beautiful brows. Her lips, full and delicate, were painted with heliotrope dye. A forest green dress, which was tight and stuck to her like a second skin, covered her body up to the calves. Her front was cut so low that her full breasts were obvious. Gloves of similar color embraced her arms up to the elbow. Black boots, finely made and embedded with rubies, stood beneath the hem of her dress. She was as carnally sensual as the way she spoke her answer in a deep French voice.

"_Oui_. It was all very facile. The family was guillotined as easily as the last one. Now," The Countess came closer and grabbed her by the arm and brought her forward until her face was inches from the Countess. It suddenly occurred to her that the Countess' eyes were slits of pure menace. "I think it is time to do your part of the bargain."

In defiance, she jerked her hand from the Countess. She was not going to be played like some doll. No, she was the leader of the Imperium. She had to ensure the respect she deserve. Glaring at the Countess, she stepped back and held her head high.

"Countess Varmilla, remember that you are within my power and influence and if you again grasp me without my permission..." She made a slicing gesture with her finger across her neck. "then I will be forced to dispose you."

The Countess' eyes gleamed with fear for a split-second before they returned to their usual coldness. Grudgingly, the Countess inclined her head. "Of course, _Maitresse_. Pardon me."

She didn't need to be psychic to know how insincere the Countess was. She sighed. Who could blame her? If the Maitresse was in the same position, she would be at best, tenacious, and at least, uncooperative.

"Forgiven. Now, why do you think I will not do my part of the bargain?" The Maitresse inquired. The Countess didn't answer. Instead, she stared through one of the open windows not covered by the curtain and watched the coming dawn. It was hopeful sight; the arrival of new hope. If she had been born to another era, a peaceful one where there was no wars, she may have liked the dawn. Instead, the Maitresse was pushed into a nightmare. Where people like her were hunted down and executed. Where people like her, who wanted to be free, were hanged, shot, tortured and mercilessly plunged unto the Tiber River. Now, the dawn was a sign of another battle. Another nightmare.

The Countess turned her head to stare at her with her dark violet eyes. Maybe, there used to have been life in those eyes. There used to be joy, sorrow, love, anger in those eyes that are now so dull and lifeless. They were people of opposite sides, yet pushed to the same consequences of battle. They were sisters in more ways than one. They were soldiers in the same battle for life.

"Come, Maria. Let us leave this dreadful place." The Maitresse held out her hand to the Countess. She stiffly took it and was led away from a place of pure horror and terror. From a scene where tragedy has engulfed the world in its torrent of destruction.

* * *

Czar Alexander II Nikolaevich inclined his head to a bowing servant as he left St. George's Hall, with sunlight beaming from the top windows. With columns of white cararra marble, elegant brown floors of granite and chandeliers of great beauty, the Great Throne Room was a sublime reflection of the Winter Palace. Alexander had dismissed most of the servants and had denied the aristocrats entry to petition and discuss state matters. It was a time of grieving. His son had died. What kind of father would not grieve for a lost loved one? He didn't need to see the aristocrats' pitying faces at the tragedy. He very well knew that behind those disingenuous tears and mendacious wails of sadness, the aristocrats were celebrating at the loss of the Tsarevich and was now plotting to install themselves as rulers of Russia.

He had never known such greater coldness, such stronger lust for power and position. Even the glare of the sun at his bare arms was helpless in diminishing the chill he felt from within. The omnipresent horror followed him like a lusting monster in the dark, ready to pounce and rip the very skin off his bones. He could feel its visceral gaze from the stares of the passing windows. It was a predator, he the prey. It lurked within his soul, untouchable and undetectable. Not even the sword that was hanging by his side would be able to defeat this monster. No amount of delegation, petition or administration would destroy this beast. It was a mark of how abominable mankind was.

Controlling his emotions, Alexander exited the Great Throne Room and into the Military Gallery.

The Military Gallery was a long hallway consisting of portraits of brave and courageous generals who was active in the Patriotic War in the year of 1812. When Alexander stepped into it, he could sense the eyes of the generals staring at him with their wisdom and intelligence. He always felt so calm in this section of the palace. Maybe it was because he was like them; a military leader with the mind of a reformer. Less than thirty-three years ago, a great fire ravaged the Winter Palace. Much of the interior was destroyed, even the Military Gallery. However, the flames within the hall had been so slow that the portraits were saved and after the fire, the palace was immediately restored. It was, finally, a structure of splendor.

Finely crafted stone decorations upon the top ceilings were raised, shadowing the red decor of the walls. On one side of the hall was a large painting depicting a general atop a horse, his sword swaying. Statues, busts and stone carvings depicted ostentatious scenes and men of note. After all, the Winter Palace had been established by his ancestor, Peter the Great. It had survived a chronological succession of battle and strife. Though this Winter Palace was not the original, the idea and symbolism still stands. The palace had struggled to rise from the depths of loss to the majestic cliffs of sovereignty.

Alexander stared at the large doors in front of him. Knowing that he could not spend any more time in the serene calm of the gallery, he exited the hallway silently and entered the Armorial Hall. He was met by stucco panoplies that were set between gilt columns which acted as foundations for the gilt balcony above. The designs, the motif were all lavishly exceptional. Gilded vine-like whirls decorated the sides of the balcony and its surrounding walls along some edges around the room. The meticulously scrubbed floor mirrored the shine of the sun, which passed through glass panes on the inner gilt frame of the windows.

The moment he entered, the guards stood from their seats and, in one swift movement, saluted. Their black uniform was in grand contrast to the Armorial's background. Their only similarity was the gold colored sashes that crisscrossed across their chests and the badges on their uniform to denote their rank and the gold tassels hanging from their black bearskins. Their bayonet rifles were gripped tightly by black gloved hands to their sides, awaiting for their command to fire. Like stone, the Palace Guard stood.

"Stand down, men. I will just hurry to the Lesser Throne Room." Alexander gestured to the guards. Reluctantly, they did so. The Palace Guard, alongside the Palace Staff, were extremely vigilant in their duties. If the Czar would order them to eliminate every person that passed the Square, they would do so without hesitation. These men and women were severely loyal to the family. Specifically, to the Imperial Crown.

Concurring to what Alexander had implied, he crossed the room and went past more doors before entering the Lesser Throne Room.

The Greater Throne Room, or St. George's Hall, specifically, was meant for public discussion of state administration and matters. Petitioners, diplomats, ambassadors, politicians and the representative of the public would gather in the immense hall for a long dispute on politics. The Lesser Throne Room was created for more private meetings. In this Throne Room, Alexander would only allow leaders of allies, family relatives and the military leaders entry. It was more heartfelt to talk about more important matters in a cozy room rather than a soaring hallway. What with its Baroque style, its recessed silver-gilt throne in an apse before a reredos and flanked by Corinthian columns made of jasper and a large scenic painting behind it. Crimson velvet ran up from dado heights, embellished with silver threads of double-headed eagles. An imitation of the Crown, made of gold, sat on top of the tall reredos, which bordered the shallow vaulted ceiling.

In one side of the room, obviously fascinated by a Russian item was a young man with blond hair and clear blue eyes. From the dark charcoal cloth of his uniform, to the number of blades on one side of the cloth and the golden sashes alongside medals and badges, Alexander called the attention of the soldier by clapping his hands together. The soldier heard the noise, turned and his cheeks mantled before he want to a salute, then into a bow and finally, stood straighter.

"Lieutenant Havoc! A pleasure to meet you. I dearly pray to God that you bring some warm news in this dark hour." The Lieutenant's gaze dropped to the floor and Alexander knew that there wasn't going to be any 'warm news'. Instead, the man's eyes looked troubled and alert. He continuously would look behind him, through the windows, at the doors and behind Alexander as if waiting for an enemy to pounce.

"Pardon, Your Majesty, but I bring no news that may be of considerable delight for you." Alexander thought as much. But, the Lieutenant continued. "But, I do bring news of substantial significance."

Alexander closed the distance between him and the Lieutenant and seized the man by his uniform sleeves. Havoc paled, as if he had seen the face of the Devil. Alexander payed no heed. He was more engrossed about the news.

"What is it?" The man mumbled incoherent words that Alexander was beginning to get annoyed. To end his rumbling, Alexander snapped. "Speak clearly, boy!"

"It's about the Rose, Your Excellency." The Lieutenant stared at him through worried blue eyes. Alexander promptly released the man and labored to slow the furiously fast beating of his heart. He could feel sweat trickle down his forehead as his insides suddenly felt sick and nauseous. It was as if the world had fallen into a river full of chaos and discord. Everything was all so hard to understand. Alexander felt so alone; so isolated.

"What about it?" His voice trembled as he tried to bring down the shackles of fear that had gripped him wholly. Havoc took out a a white piece of paper from a pocket underneath his uniform. His head was bowed as he handed the paper to Alexander. Alexander stared at it with a mixture of terror, surprise and indifference. Finally, he took the paper from the outstretched hand.

He could feel the blood draining from his face.

"Sweet God, may You grant us mercy."

The Lieutenant nodded his agreement with the exclamation, but Alexander didn't care. He had never believed it. He never fully considered the authentication of the matter. He dismissed it as rumor and gossip by bored women. But now, all he could feel was the great chasms of trepidation that he had fallen into. The Rose had been true all along. It had always been; he was just too blind in his faith in religion and reform to believe. Alas! The truth had finally dawned on him.

Suddenly, another thought entered his mind. If the Imperium would discover the verification of the identity of the Rose, they might very well exterminate it. He couldn't let that happen. After all that had been put into play, Alexander couldn't let the Imperium and their leader ascertain the truth of the Rose. It was too delicate and too important. The destruction of the Rose would be the beginning of a series of obliterative battles and contradictions. It could lead Russia to civil war, bringing in tow her allies.

"Lieutenant Havoc!" The man straightened. Alexander looked him in the eye. "We have to take action."

"Your Majesty!" The Lieutenant agreed with a salute.

* * *

_Author's Note: Cliffhanger!!!!!!! Whoa....it was utterly tiring to describe the Winter Palace as detailed as possible. Not to mention the massive amount of research that I had put into it. Now, I shall rest in order to formulate the 8th chapter. I dearly hope I acquire more reviews. I'm so selfish._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Ascension

_Author's Note: Recently, I have posted my 7th chapter for this story. So, by proxy, it means that I will post my 8th Chapter._

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It has been a day since the most life-altering thing that had happened in Riza's life. Specifically, it was twenty-seven hours, eighteen minutes and nine seconds and counting from the time that the Duke of Florence spoke to her. After the incident where the Duke willingly made her eat, drink and sleep without complain, Riza had saw fit to thank him by being his resident maid in the palace. It was all she could do for the benevolent things he had done for her. Waking the kitchen staff at one in the morning was liable to be met by grumbling and very dark glares. This was affirmed when Riza went to the kitchen to prepare an early meal for the Duke when Signora Gracia appeared and muttered heatedly, "Whoever made the Duke wake me at one in the morning, I'd wring his neck until it breaks." Riza had to stifle a gasp and duck her head so that the Signora couldn't see the blush that crept on her serving the Duke, and trying oh so hard to not wither from his unwavering gaze, she was sent to return the platter back to the kitchen for cleaning. As if she needed someone to tell her to do that. She knew very well her responsibilities.

And as Riza passed a corner, whose halls were lavishly decorated with thick rugs and banners, she stopped to hear someone speaking. In any other time, and any other place, she wouldn't have minded it. But, somehow, something was pulling her to listen. It was like a siren's song, lulling sailors to their demise among rocky bottom. It was a female voice speaking; soft, melodious and elegant. It sounded so heavenly that Riza thought it was a spirit talking.

"My lords and lady. May I present, by the Grace of God, Lyra Alexandrina Volvera, Queen of Denmark, Queen of Norway, Queen of Sweden, Queen of Greece, Queen of Iceland, Grand Duchess of Russia, Grand Duchess of Oldenburg, Duchess of Schleswig-Holstein and Duchess of Augustenborg." Riza could feel her eyebrows rising at every given title. Never in her life had she heard of a person having that many titles, least of all, a woman. It wasn't that she had anything against women having power. On the contrary, she supported it. It was the fact that a woman was a ruler of so many lands that endangered her. Riza knew, without doubt, that this Lyra person's enemies were probably men, dukes or kings or princes, vying for her throne. Somehow, Riza felt a little sympathy for what the woman may find on her path. But she could never be sure. After all, she was no Queen of any land, not the Grand Duchess of kingdoms. In a way, it intimidated her. This Lyra was not a woman to be messed with. After all, Riza had heard stories of lords and ladies ordering their enemies, disgruntled servants, and even their own family to be executed.

Riza knew better, knew that if she was caught, she could be punished. Severely. But, she couldn't help it. She was just too curious. Setting the plate down on one of the numerous tables, Riza used her fingers to push the door open a little bit. She dearly prayed that it made no sound, no slight inclination that someone was listening to their conversation. She didn't want her head chopped off on the executioner's block just standing inside the Petitioner's Hall. By some paranormal miracle, the door made no sound as it opened a sliver.

Inside was a fabulously decorated room, with dark green carpets and recently painted walls of white. Gossamer curtains, their laces gold and swaying. Queen Anne chairs, their wood fervently polished, were filled with the bodies of men Riza recognized: The Mustang family, while one chair was filled by an old man with the dark hair and wearing an eye patch over his left eye. He wore a royal blue uniform, buttoned all the way to his neck. Wide, gold tassels hung on both ends of the shoulder part of his uniform. A black scabbard sat idly by his side, hiding a finely crafted sword. He had a smile on his face, yet Riza felt the weird tug that his smile was secretive and devious; rather than polite and formal. From her peripheral vision, she could see the Duke of Florence sitting next to his father, who was in a dazzling ensemble of red, ornamented by his sash of position and the many rings on his fingers. The man's gray hair was tied back and he gave the aura of a wizened leader who knew the makings of his land. The Grand Duchess Vittoria Gevena was no less confounding. Her beautiful scarlet hair, that shone like garnet under the sunlight, was left to cascade down her bosom, which was covered to the chin with a burgundy colored outfit. Her dress was immaculately neat and prim, no frill out of place or any folds that were unnecessary. Yet, in her remarkable garments of grand splendor, the unquestionable authority was evident in her dark emerald eyes. However, of all of them, Riza thought that the Duke was probably the most attention-grabbing. In a superb black suit made out entirely of the finest silk and polished boots with jewels embedded on them. His outer coat featured a trim, close-fitting cut, narrow arm holes, high narrow lapels and a rounded bottom front. The bloodred vest was fine and double breasted. The cut was conservative but the velvety cloth was full of style. Around the collar was a white satin cravat, which was pleasingly compatible with the rest of the Duke's outfit. Dressing his hands were black deerskin gloves, soft and almost having a gossamery shine. Without being extravagantly showy, the Duke was more than handsome in his garment.

Somewhere between observing the room, Riza was disturbed by the continuation of the conversation. The people inside began chatting animatedly. She saw the Grand Duke talking to the old man as the Grand Duchess complimented on the hat of one of the minor royalties invited to the meeting. While discussion on events such as tax and distribution was being held, Riza was busy watching the Duke. He was off to the side, near the windows, conversing with a young woman with black hair cut to her jaw. Her back was turned but Riza could make out that she was an important person. After all, a nobody did not wear a fine saffron dress with frills at the end of the wrists, complemented by a string of diamonds the size of a large grape and donning on a felt hat with a large gold feather. She did not need to ask to know that the woman was rich with the many ropes of rubies, emeralds, sapphires and jasper around her neck and large precious gems that could feed a village around her fingers. When one of the ladies called the woman "Your Majesty", it was very apparent to Riza that it was Queen Lyra.

Among all other things, one she dreaded the most had happened without any mercy at all. When Riza shifted a little closer to the door, it creaked open a little. It only provided a small sound that was drowned in the noise of the conversation. However, in that moment, the eyes of the Duke was staring at her, unreadable. He was staring at her with the most intent gaze she had ever seen. Like an insect inspecting its food before devouring it. It was there that Riza's heart started beating fast in an unnatural pace. The Duke had saw her. What would he think? That she was a spy? That she could lead them to a war? Of course he would! After all, no honest person would stand behind an opened door and listen to their conversation.

When the Duke had stopped talking and stared at her, the Queen had began to take notice. Riza began to panic. It was bad that the Duke of Florence saw her eavesdropping but how would a Queen react? She faintly remembered the stories of how monarchs could have people's head chopped off. In panic, Riza clutched her neck. She told herself to leave but, a voice inside her head told her that it would make her more suspicious. If she'd allow the Duke to see her in plain sight, it would mean that she meant business rather than prying around. Where she got that conviction, Riza could only scratch her head in confusion.

Fortunately, her pretense worked because one of the ladies-in-waiting of the the Grand Duchess spotted her. The woman quickly made way for the door, causing the Duke to return to his conversation and stopped the Queen from discovering Riza's gaze.

Riza backed off a step to let the woman out the door. She was dressed as standard of the ladies-in-waiting. With her green dress, paired with a green cap on the head, all velvety and lustrous and regal. Her red hair was gleaming in the ample sunlight. It pricked Riza that the Grand Duchess' ladies-in-waiting all bore a striking resemblance to her. They all had red hair, dark green eyes and that almost similar timbre and pitch in their voices. It was startling and deceptive to Riza.

"Yes? Do you wish something?" The lady-in-waiting asked her. Riza was about to shake her head in rejection when the thought occurred to her that if she did that, the lady would report to the Grand Duchess. That made her mind run in panic. She had to make something up. Something that would cover her escape and not draw any attention to herself.

"I was sent by the chamberlain to see to the needs of the nobles, madam." The woman stared at her with a scrutinizing gaze. Riza feared to think that the lie was obvious in her eyes. To stop her heart from beating in alarm, Riza brought her mask. The mask that showed nothing and revealed nothing. It was a mask brought by cold indifference and harsh lashings from the past. She made her face look like the blank looks of the statues around the palace. This seemed to garner the attention of something deep within the lady-in-waiting, for instead of questioning her about Riza's orders, the woman smiled.

"You're perfect." Riza was surprised at what the courtier had said. Still, she fortified her outward cold demeanor by curtly asking the woman the question, "For what?"

The courtier laughed as if it was the most humorous thing that had appeared in all the world. In every way, the laugh was very similar to the Grand Duchess' own. This made Riza's mind feel dizzy and confused. Of all things, she hated being confused and lost. It made her feel stupid and ignorant of the things happening around her.

"Perfect to be a lady-in-waiting, my dear!" The woman said after her laugh abruptly ended when she saw that Riza was barely smiling. Her voice turned serious and she had that aura of authority and flawless command. In one swift movement, she had her arm around Riza's shoulder, leading her down the passage. Riza unknowingly jerked herself away from the woman's grasp. The woman raised a red eyebrow over one emerald eye. Riza bowed her head in answer.

"You cannot refuse this. Being an attendant to the Grand Duchess is a great honor, _signorina_. Follow me to the Monarch's Tower and we shall get you bathed and dressed to begin your work as courtier to the Grand Duchess." The courtier led her to an unfamiliar passage towards where Riza knew was the Monarch's Tower. Though she lived in the palace for most of her life, Riza had never seen the interior of the Monarch's Tower. It was beyond her wildest dreams; surpassing the grandeur of the whole palace itself. The walls were all vastly festooned with many kinds of flowers, gilded by gold and brought to a remarkable sheen as shiny marble was applied to everything. The carpeted floors were soft and adorned with luxurious weaves of gold tapestries. Everything else was covered in gold. The room seemed to shine with it. Pillars stood on sides, surrounded by statues of nymphs and pagan gods and goddesses. A large grandfather sat on the very back of the room in a dark brown color. Beside it was the statues of the Virgin and her son, Christ the Lord.

Seeing her astonishment, the lady-in-waiting smiled kindly. She suddenly looked motherly and Riza felt a tug inside her soul. She never had a mother.

"I had the same reaction when I first started here. Come, we are only in the bottom floor. You will see more grandeur on the upper levels." The lady-in-waiting smiled as Riza's eyes widened. She didn't seem to think that there could be anything more grand than this room. In a state of awe, Riza nodded her head. The lady smiled before gently taking Riza's hand.

"I am Matilda." Riza knew that the most polite thing she could do was return the obligation.

"Riza, madam Matilda." Matilda laughed gaily. She looked so elderly and motherly that Riza almost wanted to laugh with her, In response, Riza smiled a small smile.

"Call me Matilda, Riza. When you become a lady-in-waiting, you will cease to call us with appellations." Riza nodded and was led to the higher levels, a journey towards a place where she was quite uncertain.

Matilda was true to her word. When they ascended the stairs, Riza glimpsed the lavishness of the nobility. She passed mountains of riches, extravagant rooms full of priceless artifacts and towering statues made of sparkling black marble. Riza even saw a room full of mirrors bordered by gold and silver. The end of her journey was a room filled with many clothes, of the many sizes and colors. Everywhere was sparkling splenor. Corsets of black, skirts made of silk and dyed to a dark purple hue, hats of all colors and many jewels and necklaces to go with. It was as if she had stepped into a world full of clothes.

When Matilda pulled out an attractive claret dress with a straight cut just above her bosom, followed by a head ornament made of puce silk that had a head covering sewed behind it, Riza knew that it was for her. Brusquely, Riza stepped back. The color was too provocative, too much that was not Riza. To answer the questioning gaze in Matilda's eyes, Riza politely said, "It' not my color."

Matilda seemed to understand her uneasiness for she returned the red outfit and took out a modest saxe blue dress that was quite similar in size, cut and texture as to the red one. The bodice was not tight nor was it loose, the cut was just perfect and not too showy. The sleeves ended by the wrists, something Riza admired. She was never one for decadence, in clothes, in values or in work. Smiling at Matilda, Riza took the dress and stared at her reflection on the large gaping mirror behind her, dress over her body. The woman on the mirror couldn't be Riza. She was too plain, too normal to be someone of high status. And by the way, something was fishy. Without warning, Riza turned on Matilda.

"Matilda, how can I be a lady-in-waiting to the Grand Duchess when I have blonde hair, not red and brown eyes, not green?" The lady-in-waiting smiled a sly smile that made Riza nervous. Picking the head ornament, Matilda gently placed it on Riza's head, fumbling until it was perfect. With a knowing gaze, she made Riza look into the mirror.

"You don't need to be the same to serve one person, Riza. There is no difference if you have a different hair and eye color, but what you feel here," Matilda laid a hand on Riza's chest. "when you serve, is what matters."

Riza felt herself blush with embarrassment. She had never harbored any dislike against the Grand Duchess. The Grand Duchess had always been kind to anyone. Riza felt honored to be part of the people that took care of her and seen to her needs. Placing a hand over Matilda's, she nodded to herself. Matilda's smile was what Riza envisioned to be the smile of a mother who knew that her daughter was growing up. Such feelings of family made Riza's eyes swim with tears. Matilda, seeing her sadness, took the blue dress that was still clutched within Riza's hand.

"Let's go, dear. It's time that we got you clean and ready for the Grand Duchess."

* * *

It was probably the most exciting event that had happened in Riza's life. Seeing many powerful people and mingling with them was almost intoxicating to her brain. It wasn't that she was power-hungry. It was just that she was exhilarated at being part of it. In a way, it made her feel less like a nobody. Riza knew that it was just her pride that was talking but for once, Riza allowed it. After all, one can never supress a lifetime's worth of self-esteem forever. And by the way, Matilda had said that being confident was part of the task of being lady-in-waiting.

Riza bowed to a young aristocrat as he smiled at her. He was very regal in appearance and had those handsome faces that couldn't hold a lie. What with his dark brown hair and straight nose and those clear blue eyes, Riza had found him, she grudgingly admitted, appealing. But, all in those eyes were just polite formality. She eased when she knew that the man held no intention for her. She was not stupid. Riza had heard and seen other aristocrats glide near women and provocatively invited them to their bed. It was common enough to see courtesans among the crowd of nobles.

Riza allowed a small smile to grace her lips when she saw her appearance at one of the mirrors in the lavish hall. The saxe blue dress had fitted her perfectly, along with the headdress. In addition to it, a necklace with a gold chain and a small sapphire at the end of it hugged her neck. Riza, at first, tried to talk Matilda out of the necklace. But, Riza found out that when Matilda liked something, arguing with her would be like asking a rock to move. So, in the end, the beautiful ornament was wrapped around her.

In the midst of the luxuriant party, music would occasionally reach her ears. The violins, along with the soft piano and the delicate harp wove a melodious symphony of grand artistry. The music was so moving that some of the nobles stopped to listen while others swayed along. Riza found herself standing by a statue of a woman with a sword in her hand, staring at the tranced crowd. Before she knew it, she soon looked into dark pools alive with emotion. In a matter of few seconds, Riza found it difficult to breathe under the arresting gaze. But, when a smile adorned his lips, Riza couldn't help smiling back at him. The Duke's smile, coupled with his delighted eyes, made Riza's knees feel like slush. In a rush, Riza remembered her etiquette.

She made a well-practiced curtsy, borne from hours of training. "A pleasant evening, Your Grace." Riza could feel her smile threatening to rip her face when the Duke made a jovial laugh. Mirroring her, the Duke bowed. "It is, my lady."

When Riza stood straight, she inclined her head a little in a gesture of deference to royalty. The Duke still had his smile, but now it seemed more alive and enthusiastic.

"My lady, would you indulge me with a dance?" The Duke asked with his penetrating eyes. Riza could feel her hands sweat. When Matilda had taught her about decorum, she also taught Riza the value of being able to dance. Of course, she perfected the training, but she didn't think it would happen so soon. And with everyone watching them, Riza didn't want to embarrass the Duke of Florence. A woman in the crowd said in a clear voice that rang with joyful sincerity. "Oh, do indulge a man in dance!"

Respectfully, Riza placed her right hand on top of the Duke's open one. His skin was soft and warm, like the sun's heat in the morning advent. And when the Duke bowed his head to reverently kiss her fingers, Riza suppressed a sigh from her throat.

"Yes. I would like for a dance, Your Grace." His smile was heaven to her.

* * *

_Author's Note: Wow....this is one awesome chapter. By the way, I know its too early but I wanted to ask if what would be your favorite chapter from the first eight? Normally, no one can yet decide for the story hasn't ended but I just dearly wanted to know if I am doing justice to this fiction. I feel like a rookie author and it feels terrible that I am demoralizing these characters. Dear Keeper, I hope that I don't have any typo errors. And if I do, please feel free to alert me.  
_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Innamorarsi

_Author's Note: I have read a few of my reviews and I began to formulate on how to properly convey this story with not too much description and a bit more action. To those people who find my descriptions tedious, I well-likely would inform you that I serve Terry Goodkind as an inspiration. If you read his Sword of Truth saga, and you're a person that hates long descriptions, then you would probably tear the books apart. Moreover, the reason for the books' thickness is in part to the descriptions that I oh, so love._

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Riza felt herself twirl as the Duke's tender hands guided her in labryinths of spins and jumps. The music was art in perfection. She could hear every beautiful melody, every sweet note, every cascading pitch as the Duke danced with her. Riza had never felt so secure, so free, so...important. Inside the warm embrace of the Duke's gentle arms, Riza felt like the happiest woman on the earth. For once, she could experience this small joy, this small pleasure when she was denied so many. She allowed blissfull rapture to beautify her face as she harmonized every step, every turn of the Duke's body. All the while, her eyes were attached deeply into his, into deep dark pools of liquid ebony. As she gazed into his eyes, Riza recalled a time when she would walk down the hallways and hear the maids fantasizing about the Duke. She could still clearly hear on of them asking about what it would feel like to be in his arms. Now, Riza knew the answer.

In the back of her mind, Riza was fully aware of the many faces watching them. She could feel their stares as plainly as she could see a rampaging boar. Some were staring at her with gay mirth, others with outward kindness. Several were indifferent while some of the women were staring at her as if trying to send invisible daggers to tear her into pieces. Judging from the looks, she knew that these women envied her position. They were probably denied the pleasure of dancing with the Duke.

In a sudden, the dance was already through. Riza heard the crowd clapping and even the jealous women. Turning her gaze to the Duke, she made another curtsy and smiled gratefully. "Thank you for the dance, Your Grace."

The Duke took her hand, kissed it softly and before Riza knew it, held her close. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Goose bumps climber her limbs and she had to supress a shiver threatening to break free. In all frozen shock, the Duke delicately brushed his cheek next to her. She could feel his lips caressing her cheek with agonizing slowness. Abruptly, a soft voice whispered in her ear.

"Can you meet me by the balcony?" The voice was pleading, soft and tender. His baritone melody was clear and it rang with hope. When Riza was still too shocked to answer, he added. "Please?"

To cover her silence, noting on how cold it may seem, she nodded as best as she can. Fortunately, the Duke removed himself from her and smiled again before disappearing into the crowd. Riza stood on the spot, unmoving and stiff. Every muscle in her body was tense and rigid, completely immobilizing her. In a matter of a few seconds, the crowd began to scatter again. People brushed past her, talking to one another. When she was pushed back by the shoulder of a woman who passed, Riza felt herself ease a little. To completely calm her nerves, she walked briskly towards the table laden with food and drinks. She got herself a glass filled with red wine. She drank it slowly, savoring the flavor of crushed grapes and sweet nectar. The wine was a miracle to her suddenly nervous self. If she had to drink a whole bottle to cool herself, she would. But, when she would drink another glass, the words of the Duke hit her hard and harsh. It was a good thing she didn't drink two glasses or it would now end up on the floor. Her twitchy self returned and Riza crossed her arms to prevent what little warmth was still present in her body.

Riza knew that the Duke was waiting for her. She had to honor his wish. She was the attendant to the Grand Duchess, the mother of the Duke. So, it would be right to meet his wish to meet her on the balcony. After all, Riza had no idea why the Duke would want to meet her. It may just be that he will comment on her dancing. Riza knew that she was a complete fool when it came to dancing. Even though she perfected it, Matilda had that look in her eye that told her that dancing was not her main talent. Then again, Riza was no prophet who could gaze into the future in a twinkling of an eye. Steeling herself for the ordeal, Riza raised her head and walked out with a carriage of a queen. She made no inclination to any of the fawning aristocrats, not even giving them a formal nod. She had business; she didn't need anything to distract her. And anyway, if she did pay any attention to those leering men, she would have lost control of her emotions.

She could still remember her first meeting with the Duke. It was as cold as a winter's night. She didn't want to get crushed again. No, she didn't want to get thrown aside. She was Riza, the lady-in-waiting to the Grand Duchess of Tuscany. If she had to summon the strength to fight off the force of a mountain, then she would. Until then, she would be Riza, the lady-in-waiting to the Grand Duchess of Tuscany.

She walked stiffly through the many people and the prodigal decorations of the halls. There was only one balcony in the Great Hall and only the ducal family and the staff knew of its whereabouts. It was a place of privacy, a place where anyone of the palace residents can be alone from the stress of daily work. Turning right, Riza came face to face with a large statue of a soldier, his sword out of the scabbard and pointing it to the ground. To anyone ignorant of its meaning, the statue's position would just have been a segment of art; a part of the work. But, Riza knew more. When she looked everywhere, ensuring that no one was in the antechamber and that the windows were covered with the thick drapes, Riza knelt down on the statue's pedestal and got a hold of the bulging handle on it. When she pulled it open, the floor beneath the statue came down silently to reveal a stairway. It ran downwards and was lit by a single lamp, off to the side. The statue, in order to not fall off, was supported by reclining pillars behind the real thing. Riza hurriedly brought up the hem of her dress and went down the stairway. When she reached the bottom landing, Riza pulled on a lever and watched the false floor push itself back to its once, undisturbed spot. Grabbing the lamp, Riza followed the trail of the red carpet that was hidden in the darkness.

For what it seems like ages, the darkness began to light up as windows suddenly came into view. Another pair of stairs that went upward was off to the side. Riza knew that it was the stairway to the balcony. Even in a secret passageway, it was still extravagantly lavish. Statues, ever present, were pressed to the walls, while silver drapes ornamented the ceiling above. With the moon's light unhindered by any obstacle and free to share its light, the room became a nocturnal chamber. It was more beautiful, more serene and less chaotic in the luminous glow of the moon. Her solitude inside the room brought tears and grief into Riza.

When had she become so alone, so insignificant? Where had all the happiness in her life gone? Had it been enough already? Had she deserved her fair share of rapture? Endless days had come, only to bring tormenting agony to her. Everywhere she went, there would always be someone to push her down. Here in the darkness, she was free to release her paramount sadness. All the tears she had withheld, all the moans and wails of interminable horror and madness of her life, each promise of commitment for the unfairness of her life, Riza let go of all blocks of her emotions and let loose the deluge of desolation.

She questioned herself. What right had she to her life when she was a nobody? What fierce and ruthless abomination demanded her submission to an existence filled with nothing but anguish? Where was this God who loved her and promised her the unconditional love He had? Where was He when she was alone? Where was He when she felt like crying? Where was He when she felt like dying? No where. Never to be found. Invisible. Uncaring. Cold. Gone.

That was where her life was. Gone. Never to return, never to be sought. She would and will always will be the same woman. Forever.

In complete and abject sadness of her plight, Riza allowed herself to break and find refuge in that space of madness. For in that space, in that lacuna of pure peace, she could rest well to endure another day of her morose life. Not even minding the torrent of tears gushing down her eyes, Riza crumpled to the floor and sat numbly. In her insanity, she would find the tumultuous pandemonium of her life. Like the dark sky that gave no promise, no assurance of security, Riza swam in the deep and dark crevices of her melancholy.

She was so lost and so confused and so scared that she was unable to perceive the compassionate arms that encircled her and forcer her to lie back. Riza numbly felt something strong and soft that allowed her to lie on. For a moment she laid there, like the countless dead buried beneath her. That was, until she felt tender hands on her legs and gently untangled them from beneath her crumpled dress. The tender arms delicately straightened them and when her legs finally did, the tender hands returned to their position around her. One of the hands touched her cheek and swiped the tears away. It brushed her hair, combed it with its fingers. The touch of skin was warm and tender, like the heat of the sun of the morning advent. It gave her a place of solace, a safe place where she can be free to fly, where her chains of servitude were broken and her hackles raised as if preparing to flee the horrific scene. It was as calming as a mountainside, as affectionate as the hands of a lover. It gave her the will to survive, the will to stand from the withering madness that railed every part of her being. In no time at all, her tears stopped and her eyes drooped from exhaustion. Whoever these loving hands belong to, Riza would pay with her soul in gratitude for giving her back the will to live. Captured in the hands of a gentle being, Riza fell asleep peacefully. A sleep where, for the first time, she did not have nightmares. A sleep where she would gain the strenght she needed to bring the light in the darkness.

* * *

Roy smiled softly at the sleeping beauty in his arms. Never had he seen such sublime perfection, such strong spirit. In all his life, Roy had seen countless people, from kings to beggars, fall to their refuge of madness after witnessing the shattering destruction of their work. Of their dreams. He had seen madness and insanity in all kinds of people, seen its false refuge and its terrible evil. There was no refuge in madness. There was only dark despair. For in madness, the pitch black tunnel would never end. There would be no light, no shard of hope for freedom from the pain of existence.

And when he had seen its ugly head in the face, in the spirit of this perfect creature in his arms, Roy was overwhelmed by great sadness and great sympathy. He had seen numerous friends fall to insanity's dark spell. He knew that there was no breaking, no stopping this abhorrent curse. With great empathy, Roy was about to leave, to let the woman have her false security of peace. But a greater feeling, a greater power made him turn back. Turn back and hold Elizabeth in his arms. To quiet her fears, her doubts, her pain. Giving her that sheltering kindness, that promise of a better world if she would only fight and never give up and seeing her stand from the unimaginable insanity, made Roy's eyes trickle with tears of joy. For once, he could help another human being survive the ever-changing world, survive the bane of existence. If it would mean his life, his heart on the line, he was willing to risk that for the security that he could give to Elizabeth. To this woman who had suffered so much and gained so little, who was denied even the smallest pleasures of life. Holding her in his arms, He laid his head next to Elizabeth's and quietly comforted her and himself of their doubts and fears. He comforted her pain, she comforted his loneliness. In that miraculous and mutual respect for life and its small and single existence, they were together in that fight for life. Her spirit was broken to pieces by forces that she could not fight back, to forces that were too many for her to handle. Where she awaited her death, her termination of her sole reality, Roy protected her against their interminable numbers, silently enduring the pain just to see that spark of life in her eyes. If he had to endure this agony forever, he would glady oblige it if it meant the happiness she badly deserved.

If Roy had to fall to their numbers to make Elizabeth feel safe and strong, he would gladly do so. Even if it meant his own soul.

He would do this for her, because she was someone who deserved much more than this small existence.

She deserved a hopeful future where no one, not even death, could harm her.

* * *

_Author's Note: That was very heartbreaking. And I had to do this in less than two hours. That was so emotionally draining that I can't even feel anything right now. Damn, this was too draining. Better watch Grey's Anatomy to resupply my emotions. And do know that Roy knows Riza by her full name as "Elizabeth" which was something left to her as a badge of her dignity. Another sad reminder of her bleak life.  
_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Radiance

_Author's Note: I have been thinking a lot, contemplating on this story and I begin to understand more and more of it. My writing has improved powerfully, modesty in place. If any of you would have read my earlier writings, they would be rather mediocre than my current one. And from the reviews I am getting, I begin to feel...inadequate. I am saying this as not as a sign of disrespect and gratitude to anyone's review, but the only person who probably understood what I need in a criticism was the author Tonga. Judging from Tonga's review, it would seem that my story is less than what it was. She (Tonga, if you are reading this than please know that I characterize you as a woman for your name, and if I am wrong, please know that I am fully and humbly sorry for the misconception.) has shown me what there is still to be explored, to nurture in a story. My fanfiction is like a cave that is unknown and you, my dear readers, are the people who curiously investigate it. If I was a godlike being, then I would have failed to make the 'cave' more deep and treacherous and thrilling. Tonga has shown me that what I do now, how I write my story is still not enough, that I still have more to learn. As much as it hurts my pride and ego, I must admit that I believe myself to be an inferior author. I never had training, never practiced before starting and I am as impulsive as an enraged bull. When I get an idea, I quickly write it down, not even bothering to finalize small parts of it, like how it's going to end or what would the climax be or where would it lead to. But, for letting me see the bigger picture, I thank Tonga for that. For her sincere honesty, insightful criticism and her passion for writing. Though I may not know her, I can judge from the way she wrote her review that she would and will always bring justice to any story whatsoever. Brava, cara amica! I will try my best to bring the outstanding greatness of this story that is "The Child of the Dark Morn"._

* * *

Roy regarded the spiraling Observatory with the maximum attention. Bedazzling shards of sunlight streamed through the statue that stood on top of the sky-high structure, setting off blasts of blinding radiance. The light seemed to glorify the great heavens as it raced across all space, all time in a blink of an eye. Roy was always amazed at how light seemed to appear in less than a second, less than the necessary quantity of space and time to take even the infinitesimal amount of breath. The light seemed to bifurcate even the most arduous of matter. For in one wink of human movement, the Observatory bore a resemblance of a cleaved monster. Even the beige paint gave the impression of searing white luminosity. It seared everything, unrepressed and unrestrained; violent and radiating.

Roy covered his eyes with his arm as he tried to make out the balcony of the tall tower. Despite the fact that the sun's glare would sizzle his eyes blind, Roy could make out the trailing edges of crimson draperies, as long as a pillar and as thin as a paper. Through the bloodred curtains, Roy saw what seemed to be two people inside the Observatory. He could only discern silhouettes, shadow figures of his unreliable vision. What with the fierce rays of the sun, it was hard to distinguish the colors and the reality of all his surroundings.

Sighing tiredly, he ducked his head and crossed the Il Passeto. Connecting the unreachable Observatory to the palace was a massive stone bridge, aligned at a 45 degree angle. Its stone blocks were carved equally in a thirty by twenty measurements, making it more shorter than what it may appear to be. On the top of the walls of the bridge were several statues of many of the most famous personifications and manifestations of the most common and the most complex theories and ideas of human history. One statue was Lady War, an exquisite form of art comprising of a woman with the regalia of ancient queens and bearing a sword of great length and of great splendor. To the side, parallel to Lady War, was the ever-mischievous devil Loki of the great Norse mythology. Clad in robes and bearing the prominent hair style of Norse culture long past, Loki was as childish in form as in legend. A great farther away was the mistress of life and death, the judge of all; Time herself. Bearing the Clock of Ages on her curved arm and her fathomless eyes staring ahead with no direction, with no stress of the amount of the period. She did not bear any weapons; she didn't need it. Time would ravage all enemies, no matter how powerful, how civilized, how grand. Castles would turn to dust, planets into minuscule stones and Time will still stand, waiting for the End that will never come. Past the intimidating sculpture was the exemplification of bane of reality, the One who is feared above all else, the Nameless Creature of which none could exterminate. Even Time bows to the limitless longevity of Death's existence. The Nameless Creature was garbed in a long robe that was frozen still in mute art, forever stilled in mid sway as stone was turned into a toy of forever. One on of the Creature's hand was the memento mori of all the living, the reminder of life's fragility. A skull, dark and horrific, stood on his hand like a grinning witness to the world's ephemeral actuality.

Shivering at the morbid sight, Roy set his mouth into a grim line and rapidly strolled into the Observatory's vestibule. To Roy, it always felt like walking from a forested scene and into a prodigal chamber. Sofas, red and soft, were set against ornamented walls. Several tables, some big, others small enough for one person, were scattered in a pattern meant as a path. Shelves full of books were everywhere, on the tables, along the sofas and even by a windowsill. A great orb, hanging from a chain attached to the fervently crafted ceiling was set in the center of the room. Upon it was geometrical shapes of lands, wind currents and names of cities. It was a large globe of the world. Stacks upon stacks of papers, journals and entries stood on many of the available tables, hiding the splendid red and black tablecloth that was made from England.

Roy saw the stairway amongst the jumble of things. All business, Roy walked past the mess and climbed the stairs as he ascended the Observatory's inner workings.

_

* * *

_

"Interesting." Riza looked up from her sweeping as the Grand Duchess came to sit by her atop the large silk pillow. The Grand Duchess was staring through the tall windows on the Il Passeto. Riza looked at the lady and back to the Il Passeto.

"What is interesting, Your Grand Ducal Highness?" Riza asked. The Grand Duchess was silent before she turned to Riza. Even at the age of a bit over forty-nine, the Grand Duchess was still beautiful. Her maroon hair was combed back and was held by her coronet of office, which consisted of jewels in dark hues; from bloodred to crystal blue and to opaque whites. The jewels were the sizes of pebbles and were clustered in brilliant arrays. When the sunlight reflected in the jewels' shine, it created a kaleidoscope of astonishing colors. It looked as if a rainbow, an aurora had surged inside the room and bathed it with its pleasing glow. The multicolored light seemed to make the Grand Duchess more divine, more celestial.

Riza watched the green eyes of the Grand Duchess turn distant and vague. Riza, from her first day of being courtier to the Grand Duchess, had quickly observed and familiarized herself with the lady's moods. When her eyes were clear green, like the emeralds she wore on her dress, the lady seemed happy and friendly. But, when those kind eyes turned into violent viridian slits, Riza knew that the Grand Duchess was beyond ireful. But those moments were rare and hardly ever came to be. The Grand Duchess held a calming presence. She had always been in control of her emotions. Riza had never seen the Grand Duchess act like an impulsive being. She always reasoned logically. That was something that Riza admired; something she wished she could gain one day.

The Grand Duchess' voice broke Riza out of her deep reverie. "Roy had never entered the Observatory alone."

Riza was the one to turn silent and unreadable now. The Grand Duchess had mentioned her son, the Duke of Florence. The man who Riza found out was the one responsible of giving her the will to live. It had been at first unclear and disorienting, as Riza had been waking from her sleep. It was there that she saw the Duke's handsome face, asleep, against the wall. He had his arms enclosed around her and Riza embarrassingly noticed that she was laying on his chest. It took Riza several moments to find help and get the Duke to his bed. And when the Duke had woke to find himself in his own room, in his own bed, Riza had to solemnly explain as to how he got there.

When she was done explaining, the Duke watched her for a while before gently cupping her cheek and tenderly pressed a soft kiss. Riza had been so ill-prepared that she inadvertently pushed the Duke away. In her humiliation, she fell to her knees and besought his forgiveness for her stupidity. Riza had awaited her punishment, but none came. Only a placid hand on her shoulder and the Duke asking her to get off the floor. Where she believed him to be those cold snubs, he was a kind man. When she thought him as someone who would abuse her, he became her saviour. She had convinced herself that no one would even care about her that she was unable to let the Duke in. She walled him off so badly that it was like threatening him with a knife. In the end, the Duke continued to gaze kindly at her. It warmed her heart and brought a little light into the dark wasteland of her soul. He was a tall and strong pillar in a great flood; a stalwart tree in a scorching desert. He treated her kindheartedly. The Duke didn't view her as someone below his status, he saw her as someone equal. It gave her work a meaning, something that had never happened.

"Why?" Riza asked the Grand Duchess as she halted from her staring and straightened the folds of her dark aubergine dress. Riza awaited the lady's answer as she brushed the dust off many porcelain vases and small treasures. Riza noticed that some of the decorations were old and ancient; others were new and gilded. She put down the dust cloth as she folded one of the satin blankets.

"Because he always brought Alexander with him. The dog never left the boy's side. Even when they were little." A small smile came to the Grand Duchess' lips as she continued to silently reminisce on the past. Riza smiled at the filial love of the family and continued to fold the other blankets. Suddenly, the Grand Duchess turned her head, as regal as any ruler, and had a commanding streak in her eyes hidden beneath pleased indulgence.

"Why don't you accompany my son, Elizabeth? After all, he could get lonely." The Grand Duchess' tone did not even bother to hide the order it conveyed. Riza knew that any argument would end with the Grand Duchess having her way. She was a clever and smart woman who knew how to turn the tables on practically anyone. Restraining a sigh, Riza curtsied before turning back and walking out of the Grand Duchess' room. As she passed the antechamber, Riza's head swiveled from side to side as she admired the many frescoes and paintings. There was one that captured Riza's interest. It consisted of a woman, wearing a yellow dress with many frills and had a big, lacy collar and held a sword as she pointed it down on the earth underneath her feet. Behind her were majestic creatures with wings and circular beams of light. Riza didn't know what they were because no one bothered to tell her. Only the Duke told her that when she quietly asked him the night he entered her room and almost met death. He had not ridiculed her, as per expected. Instead, he slowly explained the concept of divinity and the angels.

Riza had a lot to thank the Duke for: knowledge, the food and returning to her the will to stand from the dismal condemnation she had been forced to swim in. There were so many things she desired, so many things she wanted to have but was denied. Dreams long dead, desires that had withered, bloomed into vivacious fountains the moment the Duke entered her life. Riza craved for the most exalted of all pleasures. She wanted to be free to live her own life. She had never wanted so much for something. Few knew the great thrill she had once felt when Signor Gracia gave her a blanket. Others would have grimaced at the sight. But not Riza. She had never been given anything. She had accepted the blanket in a manner that spoke of her gratitude.

Riza picked up her skirt as she hurried down the stairway. While descending, Riza saw Leonora, another of the Grand Duchess' ladies-in-waiting. Of all the Grand Duchess' courtiers, Leonora was the most beautiful, most attractive. She had scarlet hair, tumbling down her red corset and green eyes that were brilliant stones luminous. Her dress perfected her curvaceous body, a body that would make any man swoon with lust. But, of all ladies-in-waiting, she was the most proud, the most unkind. When Matilda had Riza introduced to the other ladies-in-waiting, she was the one who looked down on her. She insulted her, humiliated her with her imperfections and criticized about her illiteracy. It was a stunning blow to her low self-esteem. Even Matilda was horrified of the words of Leonora.

"Ah, Elizabeth!" Riza knew that Leonora evaded using her nickname. She did not want to associate herself with a domestic. "Off to see the Duke? Had the most exquisite and jovial night with him? It must have been a very _honourable_ moment for someone like _you_, a _whore_!" Leonora's words were dark and cruel and tainted with the poison of hate. Even though Riza reminded herself that it was just words and not physical violence, she still couldn't stop the blanching of her face. She had been called a lot of foul names, several discriminating titles but Riza prided herself in being able to stand from those moments. But, no one had called her a whore. The whore was disgusting and sordid that Riza was shocked to be the target of the word. On top of that, she was called a whore for spending a "night" with the Duke. In all honesty, Riza wanted to scream at her. She wanted to shout at her that she was not a whore and that "night" was not filled with sexual indulgence, but a motivating catharsis of her will to live. But she knew that Leonora would not believe her. Better yet she not give the woman any satisfaction by showing that she had hit a sore spot inside Riza. There was a reason why she had a coldness within her.

"If you want to know, why don't you bed him? In any case, you should not use those words to describe me, when..." Riza paused and wrapped the woman in a frozen stare that would have made anyone run in terror. Finally, when the silence was becoming more tense, Riza smirked and said in a frigid voice. "In all reality, you were just describing yourself."

The look on Leonora's face was murder intent. Her smug smile was gone and was replaced by a deadly grimace. When Leonora took a step forward, her fists closed and trembling and her face, a mask of total hate, Riza stood her ground. She was absolutely sure that the woman did not know anything about physical violence. Leonora grew up in a doting surrounding, Riza grew up in a horrible hellhole. Riza had her fair share of hits and that showed how much mettle was inside her.

At last, Leonora was a hand away from her. She was all vengeance and homicide in one. When she opened her mouth to spit out another retort, another insult at her, Riza spoke before the woman could make any sound. "Why so angry? Afraid that the Duke didn't want someone like you? Shame. You could be someone after being with him. Ah!," Riza made a mocking sound as if she realized a very smart idea. "you could even bear his bastard child!"

That was the last straw for Leonora. Riza could see the burning humiliation in her eyes. Realizing that, Riza felt cruel pleasure. It was about time that someone else felt the cold sting of being degraded. Now, this harlot could see the hellish life that Riza had lived in for twenty-seven years. When the woman raised her fist, poised to deliver Riza to death's embrace in an implacable strike, Riza straightened her shoulders, ready to retaliate her attack.

Leonora struck down with ferocious strength, Riza countered by grabbing the woman's arms and twisting it around. A scream was cut short as Riza unleashed a shattering punch to the woman's stomach. Leonora gasped. Riza backhanded her, her face showing nothing but harsh determination. Leonora tumbled down the steps, the flowing beads of her dress flailing, but managed to get a hold of the banister. She was breathing fast and Riza could hear the woman's labored self. Leonora struggled to stand up and face Riza. Without ceremony, Riza gripped the woman's long red hair and pulled it down so hard that Leonora was crying to be free while standing in an awkward position. Riza let out a dazzling slap to the woman's face. She let go of her hair and, instead, seized her neck and made Leonora stare into her eyes.

Riza had never been the villain. No, even the men who once tried to have their way with her had never been this abused. But, this was different. Rape, she could live with. It was humiliation and being degraded that was unbearable. Once she had started, Riza released all her anger, her rage at the unfairness of her whole being. She couldn't let people trample on her anymore. Not when those kind of people were the lowest of all kinds of human. They do not deserve the luxury of aristocratic life; they deserved the potholes of Hell.

Riza stared into the green eyes of the once proud woman. Now, those condemning viridian eyes were now filled with untold horror and fear. No anger, no hate, no trace of superiority was present in those eyes. Riza always reasoned out that most people now needed some kind of flogging to see their own stupidity. Justice demanded that these kinds of human beings see their own limitations and their own mortality. After all, they are just humans. Not even an emperor can stand against the powers of Time and Death. Staring back to those green eyes, Riza fixed them in an ethereal connection that bespoke the magnitude of the situation. She erased all compassion, all sympathy she had in her from her face. Riza brought up the unfeeling, indifferent and remote face she often used to ward off the hurtful words of unsympathetic men.

"Be advised, Leonora. You may be better than me at most things, but, as easy as a push..." Leonora's face reddened before turning into alabaster white. All blood drained from her face as she was caught in Riza's hostile stare.

"...I can kill you." Riza's voice had a dreadful finality to it. It almost sounded an absolute order. If Leonora had been pale before, she looked dead right now. Riza let go of Leonora's neck and watched as the woman scurried down the steps and ran towards the exits.

The silence was deafeningly tense. Riza stood straight and stiff, her eyes stared vacantly where Leonora had been, her hand still outstretched. When it was too much to take, Riza fell down on the step and put her head in her hands. With mighty effort, she struggled to not scream in triumph. All her life, Riza had been oppressed. She had been dominated by people with more power, more strength than her. She was forced to do their bidding without the emancipation of complaint. Being able to stand for herself, Riza felt like shouting in joy and crying in liberation. When all thoughts jumbled, Riza's mind locked on the Duke. Understanding flooded into her like an inundation of fire. Because of the Duke's caring heart, she had been given back the strength to not only stand from the pain, but stand for her rights as a human being. The Duke was a saviour. Riza had one more thing she would thank him about.

Rising from her comfort, Riza fled the stairs and made her way towards the Observatory. On the way, she absently remarked how everything seemed a little brighter.

* * *

Roy watched the beautiful blonde ascend the Observatory with unparalleled grace and elegance. Dreamily, Roy did not notice the smile he was wearing when he saw Elizabeth. She was so lovely, so gorgeous, so pure. From the moment Roy woke to find himself in his bed, by effort of the blonde now coming up, he almost thought of her more and more. And those thoughts tended to run into embarrassing places. When he had gone to a meeting about the preliminary supervision on the construction of base defenses in Tuscany, Roy almost embarrassed himself. He never listened to the other supporters on their thoughts of the plan. All he thought was Elizabeth.

Pushing the door open, Roy stepped out of the chamber and into the hall outside. Dark caramel walls met his eyes; the smell of ancient paper invading his nostrils. The steady sound of creaking wood erupted within the silence as Roy's booted foot came down the first step of the tall, winding staircase. He gripped the velvety rail on the side and patiently awaited Elizabeth's arrival. The quiet echoes of footsteps marked the advent of Elizabeth. While Roy awaited for her, his thoughts dwelled to a certain message he received a while ago, before he came up the Observatory.

His best friend, Maes Hughes, was coming.

The letter said that his British friend was aboard the _Miracle_, on its way to Italy. It had been several years since he had last seen Maes. He could clearly educe the man's dark hair, the stubbly cheeks and the ever-present glasses that covered very observant gold eyes. Maes had written that he would be in the city by late afternoon. Even though Roy got the letter around nine o'clock in the morning, he was already jumping around and preparing things for his best friend.

His thoughts halted as he saw Elizabeth, in a gorgeous azure dress. Her long blonde hair was left to rain down her body, enveloping her face in a gold embrace. A perfect smile curved her lips, and danced in her eyes. The sight was rejuvenescing. The latest Roy had ever seen on Elizabeth was a defeated soldier. Now, all he could see was a proud knight, undefeated and dignified. Elizabeth lifted his spirits and absently brought out the joy in him. Now, he was grinning like an idiot.

"Your Grace." Her curtsy was more meaningful, more heartfelt. It had an honourably truthful feel to it. Still smiling, Roy bowed to her. "My lady."

Riza looked up with her caramel eyes. "The Grand Duchess wished for me to accompany you. She said that you never went inside the Observatoy alone, Your Grace." Roy smiled at his mother's ever doting influence. She even managed to get Elizabeth to accompany him. Although Elizabeth never stated it, Roy knew that she was no social person. She barely talked to anyone; less even cared about their thoughts and jobs.

"Yes, that is true. It has been quite empty in the Observatory as of late." Roy said, gesturing to the viewing chamber. Elizabeth looked around, taking everything in. Roy watched as she observed the old tower, silently admiring her beauty. She had a way about things. When she was interested in something, her eyes seemed to light up and a small smile appeared in her lips. He saw that when her gaze fell on the music box that stood on the table next to the entrance to the chamber. It was a slightly old music box, plain white with gold linings. A carefully crafted bird, with its wings open as if withstanding the force of a mountain, sat on its cover. When Roy turned his head to watch Elizabeth, a wistful longing appeared in her eyes. But, as quickly as it came, it went. Roy was saddened to see the vacant reappraisal of everything.

"Elizabeth, come with me." When her eyebrows bunched together in a confused frown, Roy looked back to the chamber. "Watch the world with me." He silently asked. He held his hand out, awaiting her reply. Elizabeth curtseyed again. "Yes, Your Grace."

Slowly, she laid her hand on his. Roy was amazed by such tenderness, such fluid grace. Roy was amazed by everything about her. Every aspect of her self was a new treasure to him; a new view of something remarkable. That was the reason why he was so crushed when she believed herself to be nothing but dust in the eyes of many. She didn't see the admiration in his eyes. She had wholly convinced herself that she was a nobody. Roy was determined to wake her to the world. Not wanting to hurt her, Roy pulled her slowly towards the chamber. He let her observe the grand architecture of the room; the timeless foundation of antiquity. Roy smiled at her fascination at a bronze abacus, its stones made of pearls. Even Roy laughed silently, fearing she would take it wrongly and feel humiliated, when Elizabeth rolled the wheel of a spinning wheel and smiled at the thread's synchronization. She was a woman who liked the smallest of things; she wasn't like other people. She was content to be able to experience the pleasures of life.

When Roy led her to the gargantuan balcony, Elizabeth's smile was pure bliss. Roy could distinguish the adoration in her eyes at the sea of green and the many hills surrounding the city. There were so many things she missed to see, so many scenes she had suppressed to satisfy a community who doesn't see her. Roy badly wanted to take the world and give it to her. She was too sad, too broken, too damaged. She was not still able to hold the pieces together. She was still finding them.

Roy had never felt such devotion, such admiration for someone. Elizabeth had changed his life. In the past, he would have ravaged her like every other courtesan in the city. But, when he had met her, Elizabeth brought the sadness of his solitude out of him. He gave his attention to her, of his own freewill. No one asked him to care for her. He just did it because he valued her. She was something more. There was no greater thing, no precious standard than caring for her. She unlocked the coldness of his heart and made him feel the very compassion that she mightily desired. Her dead wishes made him want to fulfill them; her rejected desires he wanted to give.

Roy recalled the music box she liked. He turned to look at her and his breathing almost stopped. Golden hair swam in the air, curling around them like possessive vines. Delicate fingers locked with his, entwined in the scenic view. Caramel eyes gazed unblinkingly at the memorable sight. The pleasant symphony of the birds and the soft breeze of the wind tangled them in an oblivious moment where time stopped and everything was at peace. There were no fights, no sadness, no destruction. Everything was just..._peaceful_. Unknowingly, Roy's free hand went up to touch her cheek. His fingers trailed as Elizabeth turned to look at him. Her eyes were now full of life and joy. Any trace of sadness was erased in the face of such beauteous grandeur.

"Stay here for a while. I'll be back." He didn't want to break the spell of the place. But when Elizabeth nodded, Roy knew that when he returned, the spell would still hold.

* * *

Riza watched the Duke return from where he had gone. His hands were behind his back and his face was unreadable. In some peculiar way, the look was unsettling. It gave her pause to not know anything by just his face. Riza had always prided herself in being observant and in being able to discern people's thoughts by just looking at their faces. But that skill was useless with the Duke. He had a way of making things very obscure and unclear, almost to the point of the unknown. Putting her guard up, Riza smiled at the Duke politely.

"Your Grace." Riza greeted formally. She silently studied the Duke as he came closer and stood next to her, gazing at the forest green mountains. His dark blue garb fitted perfectly against the background, along with a gold cravat and white vest. The cold breeze ruffled his black hair, short and aristocratic. When the Duke brought a hand from his back and held her other hand up, Riza could see a bit of hesitation in his face, as his eyes were to the ground. The fact that the Duke hesitated made Riza's alarm elevate. From all the time she had known him, Riza knew that the Duke never hesitated.

When he spoke, his voice cracked a bit and Riza saw him gulp."Elizabeth, I know that I have no right to your life, to your decision. But, I want to be more than a stranger to you." When Riza waited for his answer, the Duke finally looked into her eyes. In there, she could see determination, finality, and hope.

"I want to be your friend." His voice carried the strength of his eyes, of his spirit. Riza, still staring at him, came closer and smiled wistfully at him. "You already are, Your Grace."

"That's not who I want to be."

Riza's eyes widened. His words were confusing; everything about him was confusing. He was an enigma, an unfathomable being. Maybe that was the reason why she felt this attraction to him? Because he was a mystery, a puzzle still unsolved. "Your Grace?"

When the Duke looked up, Riza saw a ravaging pain in them. It was a slow torture, a painful agony. It was dreadful, horrible, frightening. Luckily, Riza managed to turn her face to its mask. "That's not who I want to be, Elizabeth."

"Then who do you want to be?" Her words were cold and final. Riza knew that it was disrespect to use that kind of tone in addressing someone of more authority. But Riza couldn't control herself. The Duke had led her into circles and rooms, just to find out that he was as confused as herself. It was maddeningly sad, tormentingly infuriating. She felt used. She felt like a mannequin being manipulated by a masked person. It made her feel stupid and again, useless. She didn't want to get her hopes dashed away. Not now, not when she finally allowed some trust into this man before her. She didn't want to regret her decision.

"I just want to be Roy. I just want to be that person to you. Not the Duke, not the son of the Grand Duke. I just want to be your friend, Elizabeth. Please, let me be your real friend. Don't close yourself to me. I'm asking you. Please." The Duk--no, Roy's voice was despondently pleading. No one had ever wanted to be her friend. People mocked her, scorned her and made her an outcast. Yet, begging softly and sincerely was this man, who was more powerful, more significant, more important than her, who wanted to be her friend. The thought of finally having a friend, a true friend, suddenly made tears rush into her eyes.

"Whatever you want me to do, say it and it shall be done." Riza pronounced tearfully to the man. His eyes were joyfully blissful. There was no amount of sadness in his eyes, in his smile. They were the sublime essence of rapture. And when he took his other hand from behind his back, Riza's knees suddenly felt weak.

Standing there, in his palm, was the music box that she so liked, so wished for. It was the exact thing, the same length of the cover, the same thickness of the gold covering. The bird was exactly real. It was the music box that she saw on the table outside the room. Numb with amazement, Riza could only gape.

"I want you to have this. As a sign of our friendship, as a sign that I am Roy to you, and that you are Elizabeth to me." Black eyes twinkled with merriment and paramount promise. The golden sunlight that showered them with its bathing glow warmed the scene. The way the nearby river splashed against the grounds, the birds chirping their symphony, the ruffling of tree branches and the pleasing light gave the assurance of a better day. It gave her peace and warmth, things that she had always thought she could never have. And here was Roy, standing in it, giving all of it to her, asking nothing in return. His selflessness made the world seem such a welcoming place.

"I do not want to be Elizabeth, the maid, Roy. I want to be Riza, your friend. And you are Roy to me, the first person to befriend me when in all honesty, you should have hated. I was an outcast, a person that people hated. You should have hated me, loathed me, left me. But you didn't. You stayed and made the monsters in my life go away. You gave me what I thought was unreachable. Roy, you gave me hope. Hope for a better future, a better life. You showed me that not everything in this life is bad, is horrible, that there are also good things to value. It is you, Roy. You are one of the good things that has happened in my life. You really are a friend." Tenderly taking the music box from his hand, Riza laid it on the flat, stone railing. Carefully, Riza removed the latch and opened the cover.

It was exquisite, beautiful, magnificent. Riza could come up with a myriad of things to appreciate about the music coming from the box. But, in all honesty, Riza could only say that it was as similar as to what Roy had given her. The soft piano ballad gave the reality of security. It promised her the rosy dawn, the new day. It banished the dark night in her mind and it gave birth to the light of peace. The fluid sound beggars description. Unparalleled and soft, the music lifted the spirits of the place. The light grew brighter, the birds more lively. Even the river seemed to rage with playful verve. When Riza gazed at Roy appreciatively, all her words, her feelings were seen in her gaze.

Roy held out his hand, beckoning her to a world of protection, of assurance. Riza gladly took it, using the other to take the box off the railing. Right now, these two things, Roy and the music box, were the most precious in the world. When Roy laughed gaily, Riza giggly asked. "What?"

Roy's laugh stopped and his eyes held a heartfelt tenderness within them. It riveted in his eyes, flooding them with its glory. Riza basked in that tenderness.

"I'll introduce you to my best friend. Come on, he'll be here soon. You're going to like him!" Roy confidently said. Riza playfully responded. "And what if I don't?"

"Then I'll make you." Roy answered, his eyes shimmering with mischief.

"First, promise me one thing."

"What is that, Riza?" Roy asked, fondly using her nickname.

"That the next time you come here, bring Alexander with you." Riza almost laughed at the horrified expression in his face.

"The dog would kill me!"

"Exactly."

* * *

_Author's Note: Dear readers, I am sorry that it took a long time for this chapter to be posted. Our school is holding its annual Cheering Competition and this week had been very hectic. Practices were held almost everyday and most of the time I have has been used up. I could only write a few sentences before I return to our practice. So, please accept my apology, which is that I made this chapter longer...and fluffier...which is gross, in a way. And, I never meant for Riza to be so...villain like. It was just because of the fact that she finally stood for herself, no matter how...crude._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Terribili Pazzia

_Author's Note: You may have noticed that some of the titles in my chapters are Italian or some other language. I made this on purpose to be able to get the feel of the story. After all, the story is centred in a foreign land. To be able to harness this kind of natural feel, I have to imbue it with its corresponding culture._

* * *

The Maitresse stepped down into the pitch black room. It stank of decaying moss and was damp and dirty. The lamp she carried gave little light as she slowly descended the disfigured stone steps. In the darkness, the Maitresse was purely in control.

As she finally reached the landing, the Maitresse stole a glance at herself through the old mirror that stood off to the wall to her left. Her white dress was a complete opposite to the morose blackness, her bloodred coat an added style to the purity of her form. Smiling to herself, the Maitresse walked away from the mirror and proceeded to where she was awaited.

The lamp's light flooded the door in front of her. Even through the orange light, the Maitresse could accurately conclude that the door was a bit over a hundred years old. Its once green paint was now left a brownish mold, smelly and was beyond any sense of redemption. She found its putrefying wreck a perfect entrance to what she was about to unleash.

She was justice untold. No one would be able to stop her.

The Maitresse kicked the door open, watching it break off from its hinges and pitched forward. The bang the door made on the stone floor echoed hauntingly, a dead melody of terror. She entered the room, head held high. A man stepped out from the darkness, bowed and brought a brighter lamp to light the room.

"Mistress." The man deferentially said. The intense illumination erased the darkness and stripped it bare of its secrets. Walls, now mere forms of their past selves, were rotting and infested with dirt, soil and water. The heavy stench of death flooded the extent of the room, like a mighty creature breathing on its foes. Ancient runes climbed the walls and into the tall ceiling. Large and imposing, the crucifix was hanging on the front side of the wall. Through the mess, an air of solemnity hung. In the center of the room was a magnificent boulder. It ran from the floor and up to the massive ceiling. And tied to it naked, chained by a deluge of ropes and fetters, was a man of the age of around thirty. His face was worn and dead, his eyes tired and hungry. Red lash marks stood off his white skin, glistening with blood in the light. The man's soft black hair was matted with sweat and stuck ridiculously to his skin. His sunken eyes, born out of endless hours of purging, were filled with the expectant release of death.

"Leave us." The man bowed and left the Maitresse alone with the man and the lamp. She stepped closer to the man and, in all courtesy, bowed to him. "Signor Theodoro. A pleasure to meet you."

Theodoro spat at her, his spit flying off to hit her cheek and slide down her neck. A burst of rage made her backhand the man, blood drizzling from his mouth. When she saw the red staining liquid, the Maitresse felt the elation of hunger. Controlling her rage, she slowly fumbled herself and found a white handkerchief. She wiped the spit away and threw the handkerchief on the floor, stepping on it as she stepped closer to the man.

"Signor, why do you resist? It is so futile, so insignificant! Reveal her to us! You will be spared further pain and your soul will be welcomed into the Creator's arms." She softly cooed. Theodoro watched helplessly at her, his eyes saturating with tears. Theodoro was a handsome man, who was kind and caring. Had this madness not happened, she would have fallen for him. But, Theodoro was the enemy. The Maitresse was under obligation to eliminate all enemies. He was but one of the many people she was determined to cleanse from their unholy stain. She knew him for so long, yet she never realized who he was. When she found out, all signs of friendship was burned. It left only smoldering rage.

Theodoro wasn't able to respond. He couldn't. His throat was burned with boiling oil when he refused to tell where the Rose was now. When offered the chance of writing it out, he instead ripped the paper and used the pen to stab one of the inquisitors. His punishment consisted of his fingers being battered to mere pulps of bones with a small hammer.

Theodoro shook his head. He wouldn't tell. The Maitresse sighed tiredly. "You have chosen your fate. Guards! Bring down the box!"

Moments later, two big men bringing a large wooden box entered the room. The box was held on by a small lock, but it was enough, despite the box's constant shaking. The two men stared at the box uneasily. The Maitresse growled at them. "Well?! Where is the attractant?!"

One of the men jumped and hurriedly gave her a small bottle filled with a yellowish liquid, thick and greasy. He also gave her a small and slender metal rod. She knew what its purpose was. When she ordered the men out, the Maitresse slowly opened the bottle, grimacing at its horrid smell. She picked the metal rod with one hand and stirred the bottle's contents with it. When she was satisfied, the Maitresse brought the bottle and the rod closer to Theodoro. His eyes were fixed to the two items, like magnets. Though there was no fear, there was a slight hesitancy in them. He was unsure of her actions.

Without bias, she tremendously whipped the man's member with the rod. His mouth opened to scream but no sound came out. Quickly, the Maitresse whipped his member. Repeatedly, he tried to shriek the agony but nothing was heard. Tears fell from his eyes as he silently screeched. When his member was now a bloody mess, the Maitresse proceeded to his chest. Teasingly, she used the rod to entice his nipples. To her satisfaction, they stood on end, elated and stiff. Surprisingly, even the man's shaft stood on end. Through the pain, the man was aroused. Slowly, the Maitresse gripped his private part in one hand and gently massaged it, eliciting a hungry look from the man. He tried to turn away, but the ropes forbade him that option. After several moments, the man released himself into her hand. His seed was crawling down her hand as she stood straight and wiped her hand on his chest. Still in the faze of lust, Theodoro was unable to comprehend the stupefying whip of her rod against his chest. When he finally perceived the pain, the Maitresse delivered more blows against him. His body was now greasy with blood, sweat and the yellow liquid. Finally bored, the Maitresse picked the bottle and poured its content all over his body. When the smell became thicker and thicker, the box moved unnaturally. Even the Maitresse stared at it with caution.

"This is where it ends, Theodoro. I will give you one last chance. Please, for me, stop this pain you are calling to yourself. It hurts me as much as it hurts you. Please? Won't you let the pain stop?" It was true. In some peculiar and twisted way. The more the Maitresse hurt him, it also hurt her. He was the enemy, but that was no comfort to her heart. To do this to an enemy she didn't know was different from beating an enemy she knew for so long and had shared so much. It struck her with misery as powerful as lightning. But, what was her heart for the greater good?

Theodoro's eyes beckoned her to come closer. Mesmerized by those perfect blue eyes, she drew closer until her face was inches from him. He opened his mouth, struggling painfully to make a sound. When the Maitresse couldn't face his torment, she turned away but stood frozen in her tracks. A soft whisper called her name, not her title as Maitresse, but her name, her God-given name.

"Please...Listen to me." Theodore's voice made her come back. She knew that his voice never really came back, only a small portion was left until he would be fully mute. Trying to capture that moment perfectly, the Maitresse brought her ear near his mouth. Not too far to mistake anything yet not to near, in case he would lash out and bite her. It sounded stupid, he was delirious with pain, but still, one could never be too cautious.

"No. I will not...r-reveal anything but t-this...I l-love you...even if you k-kill me..L-ly.." He was unable to finish as the Maitresse stood stiffly and backed away from his as fast as possible. He was the enemy, she reminded herself. She verbally muttered it repeatedly as tears cascaded down her eyes. In her horror, the Maitresse exited the room, still shocked and afraid. But, even when she was already far away, the deafening silence brought his last words.

"Don't let it swallow you, l-love."

Screaming, the Maitresse fished out her pistol and shot the moving box's lock continuously. When the lock finally fell and the box was ripped open by its content, the Maitresse fled in horror.

All the while, she screamed as she left her only love to the starving mercy of hundreds of hungry rats.

* * *

_Author's Note: That is not the last time you will see the Maitresse! She will return, with a vengeance brought more from madness!!!! Hahahaha! weird....anyway, reviews anyone!!!!_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Cascade of Events

* * *

Roy and Riza's glorious moment was halted during the late afternoon as a messenger disturbed their tea. Roy, looking up from his cup, asked the man.

"What is it?"

"The British ambassador, Sir Maes Hughes, has arrived, sir. He is asking for your presence, he implies that it is for great importance. He asks that you hurry, sir." The young man pronounced clearly. Roy smiled to himself and caught Riza's questioning gaze. She was curious about the matter.

"Maes is the best friend I was talking about. Come," He stood from his seat, extending an out to her."We must meet him."

Riza took his hand and stood from her seat. She brushed bread crumbles off her azure dress. She flicked long blonde stray hair strands from her face back over her shoulders. She smiled her assent. Roy smiled back as he led her away from the open veranda and into the lighted hallway. Glowing torches sat on holders bolted to the stone walls, bathing it in bright light.

"Actually, Maes isn't just my best friend. He's a brother to me." Roy's face turned into crimson at his confession. But, to his great relief, Riza just smiled and nodded. To fill up the silence, Roy asked.

"What about you, Riza? Do you have any family?" His exultant smile withered when all the blood drained from Riza's face. Her pale face stood out, white, against the yellowish light of the lamps. A torrent of self-loathing was loose inside Roy. He had unwittingly made her retreat to her cold, iron mask. To make up, he quiclky added. "Unless you don't want to tell me. I don't want to press into your life."

However, Riza stood silent, frozen on the spot. She looked so beautiful, so statuesque. But her eyes held no warmth, no feeling. And when she spoke, her voice was cold steel.

"I don't have a family."

"Riza, you don't have t-"

"I was left to fend for myself ever since I was a baby." Lamplight danced in her eyes, on her skin. It made her ethereal, a sublime creature made of wisp and light. "That was until I was found by an old woman. She cared for me, raised me, fed me. Even though she never said her name, I didn't care. I was happy, I had a family. Everything was alright again. Until I became six." Riza suddenly became eerily silent. Roy was content to let her stop, but his curiosity became his downfall.

"What happened?"

A lone tear slid from her eyes and shot to the stone floor. Her face held no expression, but her voice carried more feeling than Roy could ever understand.

"She sold me. Sold me to a man who used me for his pleasure."

Roy couldn't understand himself at her revelation. Anger and sadness clashed heatedly in him. He couldn't bring himself to give her any consolation. It was not because he was opposed to the idea; rather, he was more than willing to heal wounds the size of a gorge if it meant seeing Riza's smile again. It was the fact that she accepted the pain as her own fault. She blamed herself for her scars. She accepted salvation through self-disgust. It wasn't right to mend a heart of someone who was confused. It would only confuse them more.

"I'm so sorry."

Riza's face was livid against the light. "He would grab my hair as he hauled himself into me. He didn't pay attention to my screams at him, telling me to stop. He would then beat me to a bloody pulp and plunge a thick wooden rod inside me, while he stood there, laughing. Every time he fell asleep, I would curl into a ball and cry. My body would hurt so bad that even crying felt like a knife being stabbed into my gut. And every morning, he would then twist my arm as he forced me to taste him. I couldn't stop him. He was too strong."

Roy could feel his ire rising at every malice, at every wrong that people had done to this woman. He badly wanted to wrap her in his arms and soothe her soul and destroy the nightmares. Instead, he listened to her talking about her grisly past.

"One day, when he was sleeping, some men entered the house and saw me on the floor, covered in my own blood. Everything happened in a blur. I was so hurt that all my senses were disoriented. I only heard gunshots and screams. I felt someone lift me and carry me outside and into a carriage. From the window, I could see the men dragging a body. It was the man. It was several years later, when I began working in the palace, that I found out he was a criminal." Unable to bear her pain, Roy grasped her hand and continued their way. Behind, Riza strode stiffly, like an upright statue walking.

When they reached the antechamber towards the Petitioners' Hall, Roy spun on Riza and pressed her to the wall. Her face showed the slightest hint of distress when her eyes suddenly became resigned and tired.

It wasn't sad despair or delicate pity that coursed in him; it was blazing anger. It was ferocious and savage and only Riza could keep it down. Every fiber of his being was ablaze with thundering wrath.

Grasping her chin, Roy made her look at him squarely. "Riza, that was a long time ago! The man is dead, you are fine now. Everything is fine now! I won't let anything happen to you! Damn it, Riza! I promise you this! Okay? I'm not going to stand here and watch you crumble! If I have to, I will have you locked up in the safest place in the world and guarded by a whole army!"

The return of her dainty smile becalmed his volcanic rage. "But an army was unable to stop death from taking them, one by one." So did her sarcasm.

For that, and everything she was, Roy let go of himself and captured her in his arms, smiling.

* * *

Of all structures, the Petitioners' Hall must have been the most formal and most sophisticated; aside from the Monarch's Tower. Dazzling walls of stone, painted to sheer white and brilliant gold, like the Masonic architecture of old, were a boring facade compared to the delicate stencils on them and the added decorations on every piece of space. Fake leaves and fruits, grasped by mythical creatures, either hung on the walls or were surrounding the majestic dais on the very front. Gray and white pieces of marble criscrossed the floor as the light from the gigantic chandelier were reflected in them, like tiny wisps of photon illumination. The rotunda encapsulated them both like a large glass to a trapped ant. The windows, from ceiling to floor, were covered with regal violet drapes, enclosing Roy and Riza in a splendid orb of beauty and undefiled elegance.

The exquisiteness of the building, of every fine detail of every thing, stunned them both. Even for Roy, who had entered this building for many times and Riza, who had cleaned this almost everyday of her life, it still stupefied them.

Roy's gaze caught the sight of a man standing by a pillar, leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. Unknowingly, a grin was born on Roy's face. He turned his head to see Riza nodding at him.

"Good evening, sir." British ambassador Maes Hughes made a formal bow to Roy. Smirking in all earnest mockery, Roy followed suit and bowed to the British man. Maes stood up and was quick to frown at Roy's sardonic action.

Roy looked up at the man. He could recall every detail of him. The dark hair that may sometimes shine like dark emerald, the gold eyes that were always observant, the stubble and the omnipresent pair of glasses. Maes was still the man who looked big and often scared people. Roy chuckled. Maes lifted an eyebrow.

"Maes! You're back!" Maes returned the smile Roy had sent him and took of the gray coat he had and folded it in his arms.

"Good to be back." Roy held out an introductory hand out to Riza. "Maes, I want you to meet Elizabeth. She is one of the Grand Duchess' ladies-in-waiting." Riza made a bow as Roy watch Maes' smirk grow. He raised a brow. "What?"

"One of your wh-" Maes demeaning words, and his smirk, were cut down mercilessly by Roy's venomous voice. "No. She is a friend."

The room grew unpleasantly quiet. Even the muffled footsteps of people outside the building was but a distant thought. All the three occupants were painfully still and stiff. It was Maes' words that killed it.

"Fine. Whatever." He made an uncaring gesture to the air. Roy breathed air more easily. Riza stood silently, but not as stiffly as she had been. Roy remembered why Maes' was here.

"So, Maes, what was the reason why you called me?" Maes' face grew pallid, like a specter among the dead. When he spoke, his voice became serious. "Roy, another has been found killed." Roy groaned. Recently, he has been reading about the murders of people in the region of Tuscany. Some of them were gruesome than normal. It irritated him that there was a madman on the loose in the place and the police not even doing their best to find him.

"So, who was it?" Roy asked, tiredly.

"Theodore Vilmerra."

"I remember him. He was one of the petitioners that wanted a change in the governing of Tuscany. He was a nice man. I even accepted his petition of limiting the aristocrats' power. Where was he found?" Roy asked, sick to the stomach. Theodore had been one of Roy's political ally. Even though Theodore wanted to limit the power of the aristocracy, he also included that in times of emergency, the aristocrats could grab absolute power to protect the lands.

"He was found in the remains of a chapel, not too far away from the city. We are still unable to pinpoint exactly where and when he was taken." Maes answered.

Roy didn't want to ask the question, but he needed to find out. "How did he die?" When Maes looked uncomfortably at Riza, Roy knew the answer. Before Roy could set aside the matter, Riza spoke up.

"I have seen things more horrible and more unbearble than murder and torture. It is fine, Sir Hughes. Say what you want." Roy was taken aback by Riza's strength. He quickly smiled at her, she smiled back.

Maes sighed and let loose the horror. "From what we have seen, he was tied to a boulder and tortured endlessly. But we are still unspecific if this was the case."

Roy nodded quietly. However, a thought came to his head. It was mysteriously eerie. "What do you mean unspecific, haven't you fully investigated the body?"

He watch Maes swallow deeply. It could only mean one thing. "There was no body, was there Maes?" The man shook his head.

"So. Was he burned? Skinned? Mutilated?" Roy listed out horrific deaths after the other. "Perforat-"

"He was devoured by rats." Roy sucked back his words silently. To his right, he could see Riza sober quickly. Maes was quietly livid with panic.

"Devoured by rats? You mean, he was eaten by two or three rats?" Roy questioned skeptically.

"When the investigators arrived, the place was overrun by a flood of rats."

"Dear God preserve us."

The matter was decidedly too painful to continue. Roy was in a trance of anger at another person's life thrown away. He was so angry that he almost forgot that Maes' arriving here was suspicious. Though a murder was seriously taken, it wasn't the job of a British ambassador. It was of the investigators.

"Maes, what are you really here for? A murder is to be presented only by the police alone." Roy critically appraised the man before him. Maes' face spread in a slow smile.

"I knew I could never fool you."

"So, what are you here for?"

"Her Royal Highness, Queen Victoria, has agreed to create a stronger army. Russia's hostility with us has now escalated to terrible heights. Any time now, war could erupt. The Queen has took cautionary actions to safeguard our country from the Russians, if they were to attack. With Britain at nigh war, the Queen is asking if the Italian Republic would take our side. We are outnumbered by the Russians. They have Austria, Prussia and Spain to back them. We only have France. The delegation we sent to Switzerland has not yet finalized their decisions. We are in a corner." Though Maes was stating it professionally, Roy could hear the pleading tone in his voice.

The news was not good. Italy maintained a close relationship with both Britain and Russia. It would be hard-pressed to choose a side. Italy could not also stand neutral. Her political bastions in Britain and Russia would be vulnerable to attack. Trade would be disrupted if war were to happen, and the most of Italy depended on the trade system. She would be left for months without any provisions.

"I have to inform the Grand Duke, first. Maybe we can suggest this to the Prime Minister of Italy." He didn't include that it would be a friendly decision to Britain. Britain was allied with France. Italy rivaled France. In the Mediterranean, France was the opposition of Italy. It was going to be a really difficult choice.

"Thank you, Roy. For considering."

"Be thankful that you're my best friend or else, I would have killed you. This business with war is something I never want to see again."

"Who does, anyway." Was Maes' answer.

Riza quietly followed them both, as they all exited the rotunda.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Coalition

Czar Alexander stepped onto the metal deck of the _Pyotr Velikiy_, watching the tumbling seas and the harsh glare of the setting sun. He squinted his eyes as he pulled the maroon velvet cloak around him tighter. Sighing, the Czar watched a messenger scurry towards him. When the young man arrived, the Czar held out his hand to receive a tight glued envelope.

"A message, Your Majesty, from the Archduke of Austria." The messenger said, his breath hitching.

"Thank you. You are dismissed." The messenger bowed and left the Czar to his thoughts as he slowly opened the envelope.

Ripping the fold, the Czar groped inside and felt the fabric of parchment. He took it out and saw the seal of the Austrian Archduke, a coat of arms depicting a lion and a snake entwined around a sword covered in thorns. Using one hand to remove the seal and the other for holding the envelope, the Czar stared at the parchment. It was a delicate brown, almost having a dewey moisture. The smell of the parchment was intoxicating, like the red wine from Marseilles. It was of the ambrosial smell of jasmine, tincture of maypop and the lavish delicacy of honeysuckle. His nostrils flared with the strong redolence. On the parchment was a neatly written statement. The black print was carefully stroked in delicate curves and whirls, and the tails were given a dramatic flair.

The Czar smiled to himself. The Archduke always had a style of elegance and theatrics. His smile turning into a serious frown, Alexander read the lines meticulously, making sure he did not misinterpret anything.

T_he 21st of the tenth month of the year of 1870.__  
Within the walls of the Hofburg Imperial Palace in Vienna, Austria  
During the afternoon, along the sun's setting_

_Your Imperial Majesty, Czar Alexander,_

_Upon further stability and strengthening the bonds of our two countries, Austria is more than pleased to ally herself with the glorious Russia. She is ready to stand by with her ally against the foes that dare resist our sovereignty. Under His Majesty's supervision, Austria is therefore subjected to send troops, supply and provisions to the Russian factions within our realm. His Majesty, the Emperor of Austria, hopes that Russia, and her resplendent rulers, will express mutual respect to Austria's generosity. By nightfall of the day the Russian Czar reads this letter, Austria's troops will be standing with those of Russia. She is freely willing to fight those who would venture to defy our rule. Also, His Majesty asks for assistance. The Spanish kingdom has alarmingly become powerful. We hope to not be in the way of conflict if it wishes to enter war._

_By the grace of God, we place our lives in His name._

_Written in the hand of the Archduke of Austria,  
Charles Louis._

Alexander held the letter tightly before he straightened it out. Seeing a lamp nearby, he took of its lid and watched as the parchment turned to a dark black color before falling into ashes, quickly whitening. When he was through, Alexander took the lamp and threw it overboard. The once strong flame died to nothing as the tumbling waves capsized the object into the murky depths below. He turned back to the deck and called for a servant.

"Please contact Chancellor Frank Archer. Inform him that I want to see him."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The servant bowed before he left in search of the Chancellor. Alexander merely watched the waves hit the ship, deeply in thought. He wondered if the situation, nigh war, was worth the search for the Rose.

* * *

He didn't need to wait long. In a matter of minutes, the young Chancellor appeared. To Alexander, the Chancellor had a predatory look to him. He was pale, big and tall, with a heart-shaped face and electric blue eyes. His thick brown hair was swept back and it gave him a more vulturine mien. But to the Czar, it was the man's gaze, which was directed at him, that was most disturbing. His eyes were cold, almost merciless and evil. It gripped him in a frosty chill.

"You wish to see me, Your Majesty?" The Chancellor asked, his tenor voice booming; like a thunderstorm over the horizon.

"Yes, Chancellor. I have received word that Austria has finally aligned herself with us in case of the emergent need that we be enter war." Alexander started, watching the insane-like gleam toughen up in the man's hypnotic blue eyes.

"That is good, Your Majesty. It seems that the Lord has blessed us. Austria is known for her military power." Archer exclaimed in his deep, growling-like voice.

"Yes, it is. So, I would like for it, since Austria gallantly gave her troops to our disposal within their territory, that we do the same. I want the second division force to head to Austria." Alexander announced, unable to watch the man's eyes and, therefore, watched the sun in the distance.

"It will be done."

"One more thing. Spain has escalated to a powerful sovereignty. In the case that she may choose to ally herself with our enemies, I want the first, third, fourth and fifth divisions to surround her in a reasonable distance. I do not want to be the one who ignited the flames of battle, Chancellor. Let it be known that the troops are merely there to garrison nearby and be alert and vigilant for any trace of insurrection." The Chancellor bowed his head as a sign of affirmation.

"Anything else, Your Majesty?"

"Yes. I want an audience with the Grand Duchy of Tuscany when we arrive at Florence."

* * *

_Author's Note: I know that this chapter is so short and that the length I took from the last was unreasonably long, but I just want to inform all of you that I am beginning to lose motivation for this story. So I am sorry that I was unable to give my best shot here. I hope to do justice to the story. And in order to do that, I wish for motivation from my readers, for enthusiasm that you all are indeed, reading my story._

_A question, though. I am not quite sure about the military ranks of Imperial Russia, so I just used Chancellor as the highest rank in the military, second to that of the Emperor. If any of can simply enumerate the ranks by order( highest to lowest, please), then it would greatly help me organize the story._


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: I am so happy today. I finally found the motivation to continue with this story!! I am so happy!! Anyway, I would like to inform everyone that the holidays are over for me and school is back. *groan* So, I can only update at weekends and I'm not even sure if I get to update fast 'cause I was one of those who got picked to be the master of ceremonies (MC) for the School Promenade. Hahahaha. I really want to audition. So, good luck to me._

_Lastly, I would like to thank Red Walrus for his correction on chapter 13. You rock, bro! And also rinxxxav for his help!_

* * *

Chapter 14: Dispel

Several leagues away from the Czar, Riza was halted by the powerfully built and formidable hands of Roy. Her shoulders gripped, Riza watched as Roy turned his head and signaled for Maes to go on. The British dignitary had a knowing look on his face before he ambled down the hallway, his footsteps echoing like the wails of ghosts in cavernous grottoes. She stood, confused. Roy suddenly reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand, his soft fingers trailing over her skin like delicate feathers. The simple action propelled down her body, goose bumps climbing her arms like tiny arachnids. His dark were affectionate and tender; a pleasing warmth burning in them. A smile graced his flawless lips, dispersing the anxiety that was rocketing inside her.

Slowly, he spoke. The baritone quality of his voice was a sweet melody to her anguished mind.

"With the war coming to an imminent beginning, I just realized how fragile and short life's existence is. Time has indeed become short, has it not?"

"Yes, it has always been ephemeral. Like those fairy tales you told me about? They are, indeed, transitory." Riza answered, her own hand gripping his tightly.

It was true. Life has always been evanescent in its beauty. Its simple being was a speck compared to the eternity of the universe. The facile destruction of it made her crave and appreciate it more. As much as she was demeaned by almost everyone, killing herself was something she will never be willing to do. Death is a constant enemy, vainly trying to defeat her.

"I've begun to think on how transient everything is. Sooner or later, we may not see each other again." Roy said, his hand warm on her face. Riza tried her best to not melt into his hand, to not give in to the pull of attraction. Instead, Riza focused on his statement.

"Where are you going with this, Roy?"

"I want to be more than a friend to you, Riza." Roy answered, the seductive call of his asking voice made Riza's knees feel weak.

"But, Roy-"

"Please, hear me out." Roy asked. She nodded, unable to deny him his wish."I admit that the first time I met you, I was cold. No, I was a bastard, a biased and immoral wretch."

Riza tried to speak, tried to say that it was okay, that it was nothing, that not even the pain she felt inside that time was meaningless but Roy's begging gaze silenced the absolutions riveting in her throat. In her heart.

"But, when I danced with you, shared the night alone with you and your fears, I confess that I was attracted to you. I was enamored with your spirit, your beauty, your perfection." His words were an elegant ballad to her. How many times had she been hirt because she was derided and belittled? How many occasions had she sadly bowed her head so that she would avoid the contempt of the nobility and the upper class? And here stands this aristocrat who tenderly told her that she was perfect! That she was beautiful. Her mind cried that he was just fooling her, but her heart, once shirveled, bloomed and tearfully asked to be granted this small pleasure of life. For once, Riza listened to her heart, gave herself a chance at happiness. She could feel the thorns of loathing decimating at his declaration.

"I want to spend what time I have with you. I do not know whether you may or may not have the feelings for a commitment but what I am asking is to be someone important to you, to your heart." Roy spoke.

"Roy, what you're giving is too much for me to take! What you have done for me," Riza gestured to herself, to the expensive saxe blue dress, to the ropes of necklaces, to the lovely music box sitting in her new room at the palace, to the saxe blue headdress, to the friendship he gave to her. Roy had showered her with things she could never have. And all of this, he gave at liberty, not even hesitating to give more."is just not something anyone would do consciously without asking anything in return!"

Roy's hand left her face, causing Riza to think that he did it out of disgust. Riza desolately lowered her head, her eyes cast to the space between the hem of her dress and the tips of his black leather boots. When she expected them to walk away, they instead stepped closer, encircling her. She felt his wondrous arms embrace her, his face buried in her hair. He breathed in her, his sigh content and pleased.

She, on the other hand, was thunderstruck.

Riza could smell his strong scent, his forestial perfumery of aromatic woody scents, those of which she knew as pine and cedar, along with the cool scent of rushing water and hints of spice. That, combined with the fact that he was holding her so lovingly, sent a thundering fist inside her cold system and shattered the iron fortress that locked her heart.

"Because you deserve everything that I have given you, _cara mia_." Roy's sweet and breathtaking answer pumped life into her dead and shriveled heart. The luscious blood of -love? She wasn't sure- gave her back the joy being alive.

"_Grazie_, _amore_." In a mad rush of gratitude, Riza embraced him back. Suddenly, Roy pulled away from her and intertwined their being in the union in one unforgettable kiss. His perfect lips melded with hers, erasing the madness lurking inside. His kiss calmed her, dispelled the fear, the monsters, within. All doubt was deprived of actuality, replaced by the elation coursing in her veins. In the fountain of bliss, she kissed back, giving Roy her own feelings of mutual affection. She felt his hands caress her face, her hair, her nape.

Dance of passion; cascade of lust.

Her hands stroked his well-built chest beneath the soft fabric of his coat, her fingers the fluid ribbons of trailing sensations. The mystifying euphoria slowed the magnificent flow of time, capturing them in the unbreakable still-life of mellifluous etherealness.

Catharsis of vertigo; flash of insanity.

Riza opened her eyes as they broke away perfectly, like a bipartite cycle ending. The spell fell back into the chasms of obscurity, its illusory utopia gone. She stared, happily uncaring, as she felt her blue headdress was gone and was now lying on the floor; abandoned. Golden locks, like the bright sunlight inundating through kaleidoscopes of diamonds, tumbled across her face and down her length as she smiled at Roy's silly expression.

Slowly, he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing heavy.

"That-" He breathed in."was beautiful, my love."

Riza merely smiled again at his childishness while her own heart grew at his testimony of love.

* * *

The fantasy played in Riza's mind while she stood behind the Grand Duchess. She blankly watched the most powerful people of Tuscany debating on the cataclysmic event of the nearing conflict with Russia. Roy was busy informing the Grand Duke about the escalation of hostility, his voice often turning hard and cold and blaring in her ears. The Grand Duchess was paled with disbelief, her usual calmness and poise gone as the threat of death seemed to shadow over the whole of the Monarch's Tower. There were no smiles on anyone's face. Even the Russian sympathizers, who often delight in the region's suffering, were tense and horrified. War was coming to them. During war, not even the most loyal or the most traitorous were spared. Riza, too, was terrified of the conflict.

She did her best to mask her fear, like the other ladies-in-waiting. Matilda was sitting next to the Grand Duchess, holding her hand while the old ruler briskly wiped her handkerchief across her forehead. Leonora was standing to Riza's right, her eyes shooting daggers at her. Riza merely her eyebrow, causing Leonora to bow her head. Another of the ladies-in-waiting, Maria Ross, listened to the crucial conversation with rapt attention. Sometimes, bits of the talk would enter her hearing and cause her to lose the vision of her kissing with Roy. Somehow, she seemed to find comfort in that moment when times were beginning to press them.

"...if Russia were to strike Britain, all her allies would follow her, assaulting those aligned with the Queen's realm. Italy could be a next target for Russia's allies, now that we have receive word that Austria stands with the Czar." The Grand Duke announced to the people. Many of the ambassadors and nobles from those with standing armies around Tuscany stared at him, all of them thinking the same thing.

"And Austria is, by itself, a powerful kingdom. Now that Austria allied herself with Russia, all other kingdoms who followed Austria would then look up to the Russian Empire. Britain and her allies would soon be outnumbered." One of the nobles declared. Muttering and agreements were heard as the bleak atmosphere intensified. Riza, by now, had lost her vision of the fantasy and, instead, placed her full attention at the ongoing meeting.

"The situation, in by itself, has become depressing. It seems that the war wishes to swallow all the lands." Another noble continued. To the man's right was the Viceroy of Florence, who sat up and had a calculating look on his face. He stared around, as if searching for something and, as if finding it gone, turned his head to the Grand Duke.

"My lord, a suggestion!" The Grand Duke raised his hand as a gesture to listen to his words. The Viceroy seemed uncomfortable with what he was about to say but was determined to say it. "The predicament we have is that Italy may be on the road of conquest between the two nations. Either one seems to wish to destroy the other, and those that follow her. What I had been thinking was, if we were to side with Russia, wouldn't that be an advantage?"

Exclamations were heard all around but what disturbed Riza was the anger in Roy's voice as he stood and boomed on the man.

"Are you _SAYING_ that we should betray Britain?! To side with the enemy?! Have you forgotten the things that Britain had given to us?! The support, the money, the troops when Tuscany had its problems?!"

"My lord, I was merely suggesting! I did not mean to insist on the idea! I was simply thinking on the state of our people, of our city! The Citta della Quattro Santa may not be the capital of Italy but this city had been a substantial bastion of pride in history! If war were to erupt, our city would be a target for the Russians!" The Viceroy countered, his strategical and political prowess beginning to flare in perilous lengths. Riza watched the two men bicker, feeling a sense of apprehension rising inside her. When both men started raising their fists, she knew that they were now nigh overstepping the bounds of court protocol and decorum.

As if she was not the only one to feel the anxiety, the Grand Duke seemed to also feel it as he stood and bellowed at the fighting men.

"Roy! Gabriel! Enough! We are dealing with a serious issue and I will not have two of my court subjects acting like a bunch of savage and barbaric animals loose on defenseless people! Both of you will take your seats!" His echoing voice silenced the room. Riza saw the Grand Duchess mightily fighting the urge to say something, judging by her fidgeting movements. Every single person in the room had held their breath, even the two contenders. Roy seemed to want to continue the dispute, but the Viceroy had already paled considerably.

When both men didn't move, Riza almost jumped from the Grand Duke's bellow of '_NOW!_'

The tension died when Roy and the Viceroy fell on their seats, their eyes both on each other, glaring. Riza felt peace inundate the room, as the people began to chatter with each other as the servants were called to prepare food. She felt Maria Ross turn to her, her brown eyes alight with disbelief at what had happened.

"I never realized that war could bring this to people." She said, her voice crackling with nervousness. Riza nodded, her eyes glued to Roy, who was sitting rigidly, his arms folded, the black velvet of his suit accentuating his muscles when he flexed them. The white ruffles of his inner shirt and cravat raised and fell as he breathed in and out strongly, as if taking all the anger in and releasing it out at once; a calming technique.

When she was about to move to him, to try to talk to him or something, do anything to cool his rage, she heard her name being called. She turned her head and saw Matilda motion her closer. "Riza," she chimed, her voice commandingly soft. "the Grand Duchess needs us. Come along, now."

Riza wanted to stop and just go to Roy but she still had a duty to the Grand Duchess. Even though, at first, she disliked the idea of a courtier, Riza had become fond of the Grand Duchess. Now, Riza was torn between a choice. She turned her head to look at Roy and was surprised to see him watching her, silently telling her to go. A smile was dancing on his mouth. Riza followed his command, smiled at him once, before leaving the Council Rotunda of the Monarch's Tower.

* * *

_Author's Note: Dear God, I have been so weird this week. Must have been high from all the wine I drank last New Year. I just got this weird feeling. Something Paramore + M. Jackson + Lady GaGa + Timbaland = Me being crazy! Anyway, people I want reviews! If you want your story, you gotta pay me reviews! Lastly, the romance part was probably the cheesiest thing I could think of. Oh crap._


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Note: Wow. I just noticed, now that I'm sitting in front of the computer, how much I had not thought on this story for a while. Everything had been so hectic that I am pretty sure I only had slept for five hours for the past nights. And, the issue coming up again, memorizing and aligning historical settings and characters is back with a vengeance. I almost got a headache trying to meticulously remember every monarch of the United Kingdom from its patriarch, William the Conqueror, to present day Queen, good ol' Elizabeth II. Ahh, holy crap. Anyway, I'd like to thank those who reviewed, from my first chapter, to this now. Knowing that you are spending the time to form a critique on my work humbles me. Merci!_

* * *

Chapter 15: Joie de Vivre

Matilda watched Riza depart with narrowed eyes, glaring through hazes of skepticism. The young blonde had a livelier stride, a more graceful and resplendent bearing than the formerly cold and, often, silent air that Riza would always cloud herself with. Matilda observed Riza's gentle smile and the twirling of her fingers on the folds of her skirt, increasing the already rising doubt inside her.

Still gazing at her, Matilda followed Riza as both ladies-in-waiting strode to where the Grand Duchess was quietly reading a book. Her Grace would often pour over the contents of any reading material when distress appears, resorting to reading as a release of the chaos. Matilda had grown used to the Grand Duchess' way and manner of doing things.

"Your Grace, you should rest. You seem to be agitated and anxious." She said to the Grand Duchess as soon as she arrived, watching Riza stand by her side through the corner of her eye. The Grand Duchess, ever beautiful, closed the book, with its dark brown parchment and scarlet cover with flower motifs, on her lap and quietly fiddled with the laces of her dress. When she finally stopped and raised her gaze to Matilda, the Grand Duchess had lost her nervousness and was replaced by the solemn authority that pervaded all over Tuscany.

"There is a grave danger hovering over Italy, Matilda. As Grand Duchess, I cannot allow myself to lie and dally while my people are fervently praying to be saved from this coming war. My husband is doing the best he can to convince the court of the threat. I have to help him as much as I can, even if the call for reading on military strategy becomes necessary." The Grand Duchess replied, her voice strong and determined. With that, Matilda waited as the Grand Duchess placed the book on the seat and stood from her chair, went down the steps and entered the meeting room, her dark titian dress swishing.

Riza came up by her side, commenting carefully. "This threat of war is beginning to take its toll on everyone here, even the Grand Duchess. The Citta della Quattro Santa may have stood its ground for centuries against foreign invasions, but it had never been involved in something as devastating as international warfare."

Matilda nodded to the signorina's statement. "Yes. This city had been safe from tribal invasions. But, those were it: tribal invasions, not battle-hardened armies from sovereign empires. God be merciful, I dearly pray that no harm befalls us."

"I earnestly hope for the same thing, Matilda."

When the silence became unbearable, Matilda turned to Riza, her gaze directed unto the blonde's caramel orbs. The young blonde may not be her child, but Matilda treated her all the same. And as every mother thinks, Matilda knew when something amiss begins to curdle. Focusing on Riza, Matilda stepped closer until she was an arm's length away. Riza did not step back, nor did she show any emotion to what Matilda was doing. Instead, Riza was standing straight, arms on the sides and her face gathering a curious expression.

"Riza," Matilda began slowly. "What is the relationship between you and His Grace, the Duke of Florence?"

"Roy?"

"Riza! You are not allowed to address the Duke by his name! What has happened with you?!" Matilda quietly hissed, hoping that none of the guards or the nobles heard her or Riza.

Riza seemed to see her mistake as she began to redden and apologize. "Forgive me, Matilda. I seem to have forgotten, and answering to your question, there is nothing between us and His Grace."

"Your lie is as thick as a stone effigy, Riza. I could see it as clear as mud!" She reprimanded, her temper flaring.

"There is nothing between us." Riza slowly announced, every word voiced in a clear and unwavering tone. The way Riza stood in the stone steps, her back to the massive wall full of carvings, with the sun glaring from behind her, made the young woman look divine. Riza's yellow hair shone, crystallized by the sunlight pouring from the skies. The saxe blue dress was shadowed by the light and her face was almost indistinguishable, making Riza look ethereal and spectral-like. Standing there, saying her statement in a resolute voice, almost as if a judgment from God in Heaven, convinced Matilda of the woman's truth.

Matilda turned from Riza and walked away."Alright, Riza."

* * *

When the skirt of Matilda trailed around a stone corner and finally disappeared, Riza dashed for the nearest column, tripping over her own dress. Catching her breath as she backed against the pillar, Riza mightily breathed a sigh of relief. Matilda had almost guessed her feelings for the Grand Duke. She mentally slapped herself. She had forgotten that relationships like she had with Roy was unacceptable! If Matilda had found out about it, Riza would now be by the executioner's block and Roy would be sent to marry someone else, someone with noble blood, in order to mask the scandal.

Suddenly, Riza cringed at the mere thought of Roy being with someone else, at the thought of him not smiling at her anymore, but on somebody else. Her life would return to its dark madness, leaving her back to the ravaging cliffs of seclusion. Clutching at the gnawing claws of panic inside her, Riza slid down the pillar to land on the cold floor. Her shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs and her face was desolated by the flow of tears, trailing down her cheeks and crashing to the ground, like her dreams. She cried, for the fear of losing him, losing the one that fully understood her. For now, she would cry, cry alone, when no one is there to laugh at her.

NO! That's not going to happen, Riza! If no one knows, you won't lose him! Her conscience savagely assaulted her reasoning, blanking her mind and halting her tears. Yes. If no one knew about her relationship with Roy, then everything would be normal.

But, what if he is going to be engaged to somebody else? Her mind retorted. Riza was terrified of the answer. She didn't want to know what would happen if Roy was to be married to someone else.

However, the answer never came, for her conscience was muted when the man himself suddenly appeared between the columns in front of her. The same man who invaded her thoughts, day and night. The same man who Riza felt she owed the world to. His handsome face was contorted into features of concern as he practically ran to her. In her numbness, Riza crumpled into the floor at the same time he was on his knees, causing her to fall into his open lap.

"Riza! Riza! Are you alright?! Are you hurt?! Riza! Answer me!" Roy almost screamed, causing Riza to cover her ears.

"Roy. Roy." Riza started, but Roy was still frantic in his search for imaginary wounds. When she finally got tired of his panic, Riza bellowed. "ROY!"

"What?" The man asked, his eyes wide with anxiety.

"I'm fine."

Roy's tense shoulders sagged as if a great load was finally lifted, while he buried his face into her cornucopia of golden locks. She breathed in his scent, savored his touch and basked in his warmth, fearing that this may be the last time she could ever feel him. When the nightmarish fear returned, Riza wrapped her arms around him tightly. He was her only joy of living. She didn't want to lose him, no matter what.

"I'm sorry." She whispered painfully. She had no idea why she was saying sorry. She just felt like she failed him in a way by being weak and easily frightened by the concept of abandonment. It occurred to her how helpless she probably acted around him, always crying and sobbing.

Damming the tears with her fists, quietly angry at herself for being timid, Riza promised to not cry again. Repeating her promise, like a mantra, she removed herself from Roy's hold and sat on the floor.

She stared at his beautiful face, at his hypnotizing black eyes and his gentle warmth, and could not help but feel lacking. He was perfect, having everything he could ever want, and she, Riza, was the complete contradiction.

"I'm sorry." She repeated, smiling sadly at him. Roy's eyes swam with concern as he scooted closer, his hands on hers.

"For what?" He asked, his voice ambrosial.

She averted her gaze from his eyes and unto her hands, slowly folding them over each other on the folds of her dress. "For being cowardly and for always having to cry at every instance."

Roy, on the other hand, didn't seem to agree as he wryly smiled at her. "Riza, you are probably the strongest woman I know. You don't give in easily. But, you're still human. It's alright to feel weak once in a while. You won't lose your humanity by feeling weak."

The way he cared for her, lovingly standing by her side, made Riza's heart jump in wide circles. How could she ever live without him? No, she couldn't. She'd kill herself with no regrets if it meant that Roy would be there in the afterlife.

"Thank you, Roy." His smile was heaven for her and his response was a light kiss on her lips, teasing her with a taste of perfection.

"Tell me if you want more than a kiss." Roy remarked, a devilish glint burning in his eyes. All the blood rushed to Riza's face, while her mind went to full power at masking her emotions.

"Quiet." Riza commanded, her voice deadly. Roy laughed freely, his eyes now alight with a tender affection.

The silence passed, but it was a comfortable silence. Until Roy broke it with a question that could have rooted her to the spot. "So, why were you crying?"

Riza stared at him, at his serious face and voice, all exuberance gone, to be replaced with concern. She didn't know how he'd react, how he'd take her fear. Would he be as afraid as her? Or would he take it and crush it on the ground?

"Roy...Matilda...almost...found out about...us." Riza said with a shaky breath from God-knows-where. Abruptly, she heard another explosion of laughter. Seeing Roy laugh, seeing him disregard the fear cloaking around her, lightened her spirits. Soon, she was smiling at his endearing laughter. Then he stopped and looked at her with a fiery passion.

"Then we won't let her. We'll keep it a secret for a while. Is that alright with you?" Roy asked, his concern going into her interest. Riza couldn't find no better way than to answer with a simple 'yes'.

"Then that's settled. So," Roy stood and patted off a bit of dust from his coat and extended his hand to her sunken form on the ground. "Have you eaten lunch yet?"

"No." Riza replied, when she felt her stomach growling in hunger.

"Then let's go." Roy said, holding Riza's hand as they left the hallway to the Dining Hall, smiling as they went along. Unbeknown to them, their joy would soon disappear. For among the many pillars of the hallway, a shadowed form had watched their interaction with glaringly calculating eyes. And when the Grand Duke and his beloved maiden left, the form backed away slowly and ran to the place that has enough power to separate those two for eternity.

The Monarch's Tower.

* * *

_Author's Note: (Creepy music plays) Now, a question, dear readers. Who do you think is this shadowed form that lurks from the pillars, intent on making Roy and Riza's life miserable?_

_I'm sorry that it took around 2 weeks for this chapter to be published but I had no time to be able to update it. School's almost gonna end around March and I had some deadlines to meet (if you consider seven projects, three research papers, four long tests and a month of practice for the prom as 'some', then I'm probably crazy.) So, I hope you would still like to read the story, even with my lateness. Also, you noticed how the plot suddenly became fast, like its on a crash course. I made this because it would have been very boring if I extended too much, the same thing all over again. So, what I hope that I could accomplish for this story is about twenty chapters. And I may give a sequel, yet. If the reviews are excellent and motivating enough, though. :p lastly, i was fuc*ed up 'cause the site wouldn't upload this file. Another reason for the lateness. and forgive my very barbaric mouth. ahahaha. lol_


	16. Chapter 16

**_Author's Note: Nothing. What can I say? All I could write here is that I don't know what to say and thanks to MoonStarDuchess for her help. Anyway, on to chapter 16! (16 already? Four more to go.)_**

* * *

Chapter 16: A Priori

_RUN!_

Stepping mightily on luxurious carpets, the legs that ran gave no indication of weariness as the form dashed past hallways and antechambers, the destination being the Monarch's Tower. The lifeless eyes of the characters of paintings stared at the form as if filled with repugnance at what the figure was about to do.

_I DON'T CARE! YOU ARE JUST OIL AND DYE! YOU CAN'T HARM ME!_ The figure savagely screamed at the dull still-lifes.

Feeling the claws of vengeance within grasp, the figure entered the great antechamber and exploded out of the great doors that held the room of the Grand Duke. The man stared at the figure with a mix of surprise and anger, before forming into recognition.

"What are you doing here?" The Grand Duke asked, his voice bordering on irritation.

"Your Grace, there is something you must know." The figure answered, quietly scheming vengeance.

* * *

The sweet taste of the crepe suzette exploded inside Roy's mouth as he scooped another spoonful of the addicting dessert. Riza also seemed to enjoy her share as she had a small smile while eating the pancake, flambeed in liquor. It was a special moment, more so at the fact that he was sharing it with someone he appreciated. As he ate another spoon of the dessert, Roy gazed at the surrounding area with fervent admiration.

They had lunch on the balcony of the Dining Hall, choosing to enjoy the view of gargantuan hills and mountains, flanked by a series of rivers and a large pad of trees. The forest scenery suited the woman in front of him, in her dazzling saxe blue dress. Riza looked like a queen, having her luncheon on the palace balconies. Roy couldn't help the admiration in his eyes.

However, before he could utter a single word of endearment, he was disturbed by the arrival of someone. When he thought it was a servant, he was wrong to see it was the Grand Duke himself. The highest moral authority in the city was there, his face a stone effigy.

"Roy, may I talk with you?" The Grand Duke asked, his voice blank and commanding.

"Of course, father. Riza, will you excuse me for a moment?" Roy turned to her, as he stood and stepped away from the alabaster table

Riza bowed her head as she, too, stood and bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."

The Grand Duke stared hard at Riza, almost like glaring at her before turning his gaze to Roy.

Roy was confused at his father's suddenly tyrannical mien. The only time Roy ever recalled a similar situation was when an assassination attempt was targeted at a woman by the name of Emiera, who seemed to be someone close to the Grand Duke. When the attempt was unsuccessful, the Grand Duke turned into a despot in order to find the mastermind. When the man was finally caught, his father ordered the criminal to hang by the neck until dead. Roy had asked his father about the incident but the man never gave any answers except for "It was the right choice, Roy." Roy soon learned, after a few months, that Emiera was a cover.

Emiera was the cover name for his mother, Grand Duchess Vittoria.

Now, seeing his father at a point of autocracy, Roy grimly wondered if something dire had transpired.

He followed his father to the Monarch's Tower, noticing the lack of staff and the quiet aura of misfortune. When they arrived inside the polished and luxuriously designed room, his father turned about and spoke in a gruff manner.

"What are you doing? Frolicking around with a servant?" Roy was stunned by the tone. "Wha-?"

"Don't you dare act stupid, Roy! Answer me! Are you, in any way, involved with that harlot?!" His father bellowed, his voice erupting like a volcano. Roy suddenly realized what this was about. His father was talking about him and Riza.

"How did you know?" Roy asked, his mind a confused jumble of things.

"Ah, so it is true. You really are romping with that harlot." The Grand Duke said, as if it was a casual observation. However, Roy almost wanted to kick him at his description of Riza. Never had he heard his father, a valiant man who upholded virtues like a sacrament, call someone with blasphemous barbarism. Roy was almost appalled by the seething words of the Grand Duke. In disgust, Roy relied savagely.

"Don't you _DARE_ call _HER_ a harlot!" The surprise on his father's face slightly cooled his anger, but did not deter Roy's hurtful and upsetting lashes.

"What are YOU, than just a human being to call another one as if she is nothing more than dirt beneath your boots!?"

The Grand Duke stared at him in pained silence, his face ashen.

"She had sacrificed so much in her life for you, for us and _YOUR SCIOCCO SUDDITO E SUDDITA_! Yet, you treat her like decaying moss, a stain you want to have erased! I am disgusted, father! _Mi sento vergogna sapendo che mio padre potrebbe sviliscono qualcuno come questo_!" Roy growled, anger lacing the venom in his voice.

His father silently regarded him with mysterious eyes.

"You're smitten with her." The Grand Duke stated, in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone, stunning Roy's system.

Swallowing a lump, Roy thought about his father's words. Smitten with her? Probably. After all, for Roy, Riza was the most delectably and decadently beautiful woman he had laid his eyes one. Even more, her spirit and bravado captivated him, luring him into her spell that she unknowingly emanated.

The reason they were a couple was because they were both attracted to each other. Not even Roy can deny that. Riza was an addictive ambrosia that he could not sate himself with. He was ravenous with her splendor. How many times had the sitaution ever occured to him to wonder what it was like to be her lover? Not just physically, but emotionally. Roy often thought growing old with Riza, side by side, hand in hand.

_Riza Mustang_.

How wonderful the name was. It released a flutter in his stomach and warmed his heart with a delicious tingle that Roy couldn't explain. Maybe his father was right! Maybe he was smitten with her!

Abruptly, the word "harlot" returned to his head.

"What does that have to do with this!?" He asked mutinously.  
The Grand Duke smiled, though it was quite tired. In just a matter of seconds, Roy had seen his father turn from an angry tyrant to a weary man. It quite unnerved him.

"Roy...you know that this could never happen." The Grand Duke slowly said, almost sadly. Roy knew the truth of it. What he imagined he and Riza could have was just a mere illusion, a fantasy long dead before it was even recognized.

"That did not answer my question, father." Roy countered.

"Neither does your transitory infatuation with this woman fully satisfies mine." His father retored, shutting Roy up. He had forgotten how witty his father could be.

The Grand Duke stepped away from Roy and fondled with a painting's border. Suddenly, he turned, and even though his eyes glimmered with sadness, they also shone with resoluteness. "She has to leave."

Then Roy's world slammed into dulling abyss.

* * *

_Author's Note: And I'll leave it at that since my mind is full of Lady GaGa's music video for 'Telephone'. I know you have considerable reasons to hate me for leaving the story like this but, school's ending and everything seems to be pressing down on me. The last time I was able to hold the computer for the benefit of just using it was weeks ago. So I apologize and say 'stop callin' stop callin' I dont wanna think anymore!'_


	17. Chapter 17

_Author's Note: Nothing to say here._

* * *

Chapter 17: Apollo and Clytie

"Madam, His Grace wishes me to tell you that he will be delayed in his return. His father wishes to speak to him on something quite important." The servant said, capturing Riza's attention.

"Oh, that's alright." Riza replied truthfully, not at all annoyed or irritated by something as minuscule as that. However, she was surprised when the servant moved aside to reveal a trolley laden with a teapot and demitasses. The servant carried the teapot and placed it on the table, along with two demitasses by it.

"_Scusami_, but why is there tea?" She asked, totally dumbfounded. The servant stared at her in a way that could have been interpreted as condescendingly shocked. It always intrigued her that majority of the well-educated and the well-supplied or of the nobility always find it surprising for a normal woman to question. It had never occurred to them, through the thickness of the edification bestowed upon them through the multitudes of wealth to even think, that for one second, there are also other people with minds and thoughts.

In the midst of her assessment, however, she felt a disturbing feeling within her gut. The deep, ominous twisting of her inside made her blood run cold. It was like the hands of cold death. It was grisly, slimy and like the rumbling waves of torrent death.

"His Grace sends it for you, in the case that you might wish to indulge in a bit of beverage." The servant replied, obviously having recovered from the initial shock of Riza's inquisition.

"Oh," Riza muttered. "Thank you, good sir."

When the man left with his trolley, Riza stared at the pot of tea and the diaphanous steam that was exuded by it. It trickled into the air as if a mysterious, intangible hand guided it until the steam faded into unseeable vapor. All the while, the feeling in her stomach grew stronger. It began to unease her so much that Riza stood and was almost blinded by the dizziness.

In her stupor, Riza managed to hold on to the railings. She straightened herself as she shook her head to banish the nervousness away. The breeze also helped as it swept away tendrils of her long blonde hair off her face. Grasping the rail tightly, Riza made way for the doors. One hand on the rail and the other reaching for the door knob, Riza opened the doors and entered. The cool hallway was a relief from the humid outside as Riza slowly walked forward, her hand extended, the fingers trailing the walls. When she had walked a large distance, Riza saw the staircase. Carefully, she grasped the balustrade with both hands and stepped down with enough litheness that would make any cat purr in pride.

However, not even grace could help her when her foot slipped.

Riza felt the pain only for an instant as she tumbled down the steps, her body silently suffering. In the midst of her fall, Riza managed to hold on to the balustrade and end her ordeal. Then, the pain erupted like a thousand volcanoes in furious release. She dared not cry out, fearing disturbing Roy or the Grand Duke himself. For a moment, she remained in the same position, allowing her body to calm down and naturally negate the pain. Soon, it became less sharp and Riza was able to stand with no confusing effects.

The deadpan paintings were the only witnesses of her pain and she silently laughed in joy for it.

However, the feeling intensified when Riza heard the soft, mellow beat of footsteps upon the granite floor. She flattened the folds of her dress and tidied her hair, transforming herself into a resplendent lady-in-waiting of the Grand Duchess.

However, the one who graced the stairs with small, dainty steps were, shockingly, the Grand Duchess's.

Yet, the kind woman was, as of now, imposing. Riza suddenly felt the urge to turn about and run. The Grand Duchess was dressed in blood. Specifically, crimson red. She wore a blood red dress, which ended at the wrists and pooled over the floor. White ruffles, made of silk and laced in gossamer red, protruded from the ends of the sleeves. The neck line was of a professional and conservative type, it very high and covered even the Grand Duchess' neck. The fine garment was arrayed in golden fleur-de-lys, regal and powerful. The Grand Duchess's auburn hair matched well with her dress, along with her vividly sharp green eyes.

Of all, it was the Grand Duchess' eyes that made her heart constrict in fear. She saw cold calculation, resolve and unforgiving seriousness. There was complete and impervious control. And when the Grand Duchess stepped closer to her, Riza could intimately feel the resolution coming over her, like the inevitable swarm of darkness at night. If the Grand Duchess was Medea, as Roy had spoke of the Greek witch to Riza in one of their happy luncheons or if Riza felt the desire to learn; the woman would be now surrounded by her magic.

"Your Grace." Riza said as she dipped into a bow. However, she received no response other than the throbbing beat of the Grand Duchess's closed fist on her face. The dazzling pain exploded in her vision, casting spirals and shapes to form suddenly. Staggering, she regained her posture and faced the Grand Duchess.

The woman's eyes flashed with danger. Riza could only stare.

"Your Grace?" She mumbled out, shocked. In response, the Grand Duchess lashed out again, causing Riza to sway away.

"Don't you dare say that to me, you ungrateful, malicious whore!" The Grand Duchess screamed, her words like flying daggers across her heart.

"What? Why did you say that?" Riza can only whisper softly, hurt beyond measure. Old, forgotten memories of distant pain surfaced, bringing back the tears to her eyes. But, to the ireful woman in front of her, her tears bore no significance for whatever crime Riza, unknowingly perhaps, may have done. "My lady, what are you talking about?"

"You pretend to be daft with me? To me who carries the greatest pain of your shameful act? _Puta_!" The slap that followed was dull comapred to the devastating oblivion of the Grand Duchess's words, a woman whom Riza considered as someone she could rely on. To see that woman stand and insult her, destroyed Riza's spirit. She felt the coldness of the world crowd around her, leaving no space to breathe, to pause, to look at the quickly darkening sky. The chains that she had slowly opened, that Roy's affection had soothingly loosened, locked around her, drawing her to the dark, abysmal and cold pit of sorrow.

"Please, I don't know..." Riza began, unable to continue as she faced the angry countenance of the Grand Duchess. She suddenly felt alone and lost. The tears welled up and, bit by bit, slid down her cheeks.

"You still lie! You are truly a wicked woman!" The Grand Duchess screamed, and probably at the loud volume of it, Riza was not sure for she was still drowning in misery, guards suddenly appeared behind the woman. Their faces were stern, and their weapons were drawn. The two men stared at Riza with eyes ready for blood, like she was some kind of criminal loose to plunder what was good and righteous.

"Your foul iniquity shames this palace and the saints and God Himself! You do not deserve to be called human! For what you have done, your head should be displayed on the scaffold!"

"Wh-what?" Her meek tone denoted her humiliation. Somehow, people began to appear. Through the thick stream of her tears, she saw the faces of sneering aristocrats. Some of the young women even smiled at her ordeal.

"It still shocks me endlessly of how you had seduced the Duke of Florence with your lies and enslave him with your devil-begotten monstrosity! He does not need someone as lowly as you!" The Grand Duchess snapped, uncaring of the degradation she was causing. People began to side with the Grand Duchess, muttering out curses and hurtful names at her.

Unable to endure all this, and knowing that whatever the Grand Duchess was a lie but could not change it, clipped her spirit's wings and finally, for all time, cast her out of humanity. Riza, her tears endless, dipped her head and stared at the carpeted steps.

"Guards!" The Grand Duchess bellowed, calling the attention of the two men, and everyone else. "Seize that filth from my palace and throw her to the wilderness outside the walls! This city does not need another mongrel such as her!"

Her heart submerged in fear, Riza gaped at the closing men, unable to do anything as they grasped her limbs and roughly pushed her down. The pain of the fall and the Grand Duchess' slap was still there, and it intensified when the men began to kick her down the stairs. The aristocrats jeered at her, laughing their hides off with evil ruthlessness.

Silently, she wept at her disgrace, at her loss of dignity.

Riza was carried out to the halls and she saw members of the staff evade her sight. Instead of looking at her, they stared elsewhere, like she was a dishonor to the palace. She, wordlessly, accepted their judgment on her.

When she finally recognized the exit to the palace, Riza saw a figure standing by it. The figure was dressed in velvet black, silky and clear. Riza stared at the black clothes, black boots, the black hair and the blue-black eyes.

It was Roy.

In her desire to seek forgiveness for whatever wrong she had done, to seek refuge from all the indignity, Riza called out.

"Roy! Roy! Roy!" The men pulled her hair, growling at her to keep quiet. Her head was pulled back as her hair was. She probably looked like a pig ready for slaughter.

Roy raised his head and stared at her.

In that moment, Riza stared back. There were so many things she wanted to say, to express. She wanted to tell him, hold him, call him. She wanted to ask for his forgiveness, to ask for his love. Emotion pooled into her as she stared at the man she surely, without a doubt, loved. Even time itself stilled as she begged for him to rescue her once again.

"_Please_."

Roy looked away and left.

Riza could only stare hopelessly at his fleeting form, her humanity breaking down, alongside her heart. When he entered a room and shut the door, she felt "Riza" leave with him, and left "Elizabeth" in an empty shell of a person.

She didn't even feel anything when the guards threw her out. She didn't even react when her hands crashed on the sharp steps of the piazza, at the slashes and wounds that her fall caused. She felt absolute nothingness as the blood trickled out of her hands. The only person who she allowed her heart to open to, had just took it and stabbed a fork into it.

In mindless misery and lethargic haze, Elizabeth stood and, forlornly, walked an obscure path, her wet eyes on the dying sun. She walked away, not even looking back at the place that gave her the greatest heartbreak. Even when her feet hurt, even when her hands bled and her face felt like it was on fire, Elizabeth calmly left the Palazzo della Quattro Santa.

She continued her path, the scene of Roy turning his back on her playing in her mind the whole time. There was no end for the tears, as they relentlessly fell. As there was also no end for her dying heart, as every step away from him, turned it cold.

Darkness crashed down on her as she heard the gates of the City close. She was, now, truly alone.

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm sorry it took so long for this chapter to be uploaded. But it was faster than the preceding chapter, anyway. So, this is the 3rd to the last chapter for this fiction!! Considering the title, you might read on the myth of _"Apollo and Clytie" _as it is quite a sad and heartbreaking story by itself already._


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's Note: I'd like to say thanks to MSD for her wonderful review. Much gratitude to BlakRythem and rinxxxav for their awesome thoughts. It seems I have developed a deficiency in giving author notes._

_Anyway, I also have something else to say. When I first started being a writer, I never expected to have any reviews at all. So, you can imagine how it is a very big shock to me to find out that this story, the Child of the Dark Morn, the only story that I put my whole heart into, got around 50 reviews. So, even if I could never achieve the "900-reviews" kind of fame, it still endears me to know that some people actually care to leave a little bit of their mind for me to learn and nurture my skills. You have no idea how much that actually gratifies me, especially when this is something that I would not trade for the world. I promise this to you readers, that if I were some kind of omnipotent being, I would grant your desires without a moment's thought when you all deserve it for helping move on._

_To my readers, here's the next chapter!_

* * *

Chapter 18: Vanity's Fall

The rustle of the leaves foretold the chill that would pervade the hills that surrounded the Citta della Quattro Santa, bringing with it the dismal blackness that accompanied the night's arrival. The faint breeze caressed Elizabeth's neck, causing her to shiver all the way. Clutching herself, she continued her unclear voyage. The quiet after-day held nothing but the sounds of nature's animals and the ever-present ruffling of the tree leaves.

When the wind picked up again, Elizabeth covered her neck, accidentally touching the light wounds on it. Hissing, she mentally slapped herself. She had forgotten about her cuts on the neck when she ripped the necklace, the one that Duke of Florence gave her, off her neck. She remembered feeling her skin being ripped off as the many stones sliced mercilessly at her, recalled the sting of the wounds as tears continued to flow down her neck.

Shunning the thought, Elizabeth continued on her path. She passed several fallen logs, jumped over large boulders and even braved the bushes filled with sharp, pointed thorns. Evidence of her trek was present in her ripped dress.

_"NO! RIZA'S ripped dress._"Elizabeth corrected herself. Riza was now dead, Elizabeth was still here.

Here, alone and cold and in the dark.

She traversed the rock-strewn terrain, her shoes feeling the effects of her walk. From time to time, when Elizabeth would climb over boulders, or tiptoe between roots of gigantic trees, or even step on stones, she could hear the faint snapping of the delicately beautiful and finely weaved shoes. When she was halted by a fallen trunk, Elizabeth paused to take a sit and survey her surroundings.

Everything was silent, as if sound and time were sucked into an invisible oblivion, unable to touch this place with their ravaging ire. Even the wind disturbed nothing of the silence. Vines littered the ground, the large, imposing trees and the trunk she sat on. Scenic flowers grew on the landscape, some of them in clusters, others adjoining the trees and even the granite rocks. One of the flowers caught her attention, it's picturesque petals a deep purple with handsome strikes of white. The flowers grew together, and Elizabeth smiled at the beauty it shone at her, at it's carefree nature. It was so unlike human life. The only worries a flower had was drought, being stepped on, being plucked off the nurturing soil and being eaten. Elizabeth dimly wondered whether it was nice being a flower, free to grow and be fed and cared for by the gentle earth.

Still admiring the flower, Elizabeth breathed in the crisp night air. Somewhere in the wilderness, an animal probably stepped on a branch as the sound reverberated into the cloudless sky.

Elizabeth held her breath; she had not seen an animal in sight for hours. The sound continued, this time louder and closer to her spot.

Standing quietly, Elizabeth strained to hear in the silence that suddenly became deafening. The noise of cracking branches came again, closer than ever.

With fear coursing through her veins, Elizabeth grabbed a sharp rock and, as silent as possible, ran to the nearest tree and hid in the darkness it provided. She was lucky that she was in a spot where trees covered her. She didn't want to be something in plain view, like a sitting duck, waiting to be shot at. Amidst the fearful silence, Elizabeth reasoned with herself that it was just an animal.

_"Calm yourself, woman. Just because you haven't seen nor heard an animal in the last few hours, that did not mean that this forest is not filled with it! You're acting like a coward! Stop it!"_ Though her logical conscience gave a reasonable explanation, it did not decrease what her emotional conscience had let loose in her. It would have been probably stupid and inane to be thinking this, but Elizabeth thought that someone had followed her into the forest.

_"I am insane."_ Elizabeth scolded herself, ashamed at the thought that someone may even think of running after a maid. However, her self-loathing and self-disgusted thoughts were interrupted by a slight, and feminine, shriek that was followed by a loud thump. Silently, Elizabeth craned her head and looked out of her refuge.

It was Signora Gracia, the head cook of the Palazzo della Quattro Santa, stumbling down the roots and falling on the damp ground. The older woman was obviously shaken and was constantly looking over her shoulders, as if expecting some horrid and ghastly demon to coalesce into the night and slaughter her into pieces.

Deeming the woman to be of no danger, Elizabeth emerged from the dark sanctuary and faced Gracia, her 'weapon' behind her. Gracia shrieked.

"_Dio Mio_! Elizabeth!" The woman coughed out, her face still ashen and her expression surprised.

"What are you doing here?" Elizabeth questioned, her voice taking a cold edge. She instantaneously felt hostile to any member of the Grand Duchy. Gripping the stone behind her tightly, Elizabeth aimed to appear as imposingly dangerous as she can.

"Uh...to...help you." Gracia mumbled, not expecting a very cold welcome. "I heard how you were treated by the Grand Duchess...and I figured to follow you. Maria Ross also wanted to...but, Matilda had her stay."

"I'm sure she did not want one of her flock following the footsteps of the ugly duckling." Elizabeth jeered at her, releasing her anger at an innocent person. She couldn't help the bitterness creeping into her voice. She was too far gone into her rage, that she had no care whatsoever for whoever received her words.

"Elizabeth..." Gracia started, clearly hurt by her words. "The Grand Duchess made a mistake. Everyone does. It doesn't make them evil."

"No. It's the victim who is viewed as evil and a bane of society." Elizabeth retorted while she looked around, looking for some kind of distraction that would preoccupy her mind. She didn't want to think about what had happened, it was already gone and over. There was no point, no clear flow of thought as to why she should care about it anymore. After all, it was done. What can she do?

"That's not true, Elizabeth. You know that." Gracia softly said, her viridian green eyes taking a maternal look. Elizabeth suddenly felt sickened to be pitied.

"What are you really here for, Gracia? To humiliate me? To mock me, scorn me? Tell me!" She snapped. Gracia simply smiled in her usual, kind way.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Elizabeth. I'm here to help you." The older woman tenderly whispered, her every word filled with invigorating love and comfort. Elizabeth's heart wrenched with regret at pushing the woman away by insulting her. In her despair, Elizabeth let go of the rock and fell on the ground, weeping. She attacked the ground and the grass with merciless fury and sadness that the wounds began to open and bleed again.

Her silvery tears trickled down her cheeks and fell, only to be absorbed by the crimson liquid that stained the vivid viridian of the grass. In a twisted way, the irony of it amused her. It amused her that she gave blood and tears for something, for someone that she knew, even in her dazzling fantasies, she could never have. But, she couldn't help it. Roy had brought her to life, to an awakening that tasted so sweet, so dulcet...and so arctic. The look in his eyes, that look of disinterest when she saw him in the hallway at that time, had just destroyed her.

Elizabeth wept even when Gracia placed her arms around her and cradled her head in her breast. Elizabeth didn't care if she looked like an immature woman. She was too distraught to care anymore.

"Please...please...don't leave me, Roy. Please...not again." She cried out for the man who she ultimately, and without restraint, doubt and hesitation, loved for all time. Elizabeth wept for the man who showed her the world, a world beyond pain and madness. Her life had been horrendous; a flower burning in the darkest and abysmal chasms of Hell. And Roy's tender gaze and his loving words had put out the flames, soaking her dry soul with reviving rain. But, his indifferent eyes had ripped the flower in two, covering it in thorns.

In a way, Elizabeth had expected it. They were too different, too much of the opposite. He was an elegant Stradivarius, pleasant and melodious to those who listens to it. She was just an ordinary harmonica, found in the hands of a poor,old man. She attracted no attention and was treated as if she was invisible, he was fawned by a barrage of beautiful women and wealthy men. Roy needed someone who was higher up in the society, not some common woman sleeping in hay and ripped fabric.

But, she couldn't help falling in love with him. He was just too potent, too alluring, too much of a saviour for her to resist. How could she? He was everything that she could not have. She couldn't stop the fact that she wanted someone like him to care for her. Deeply, she wanted to be something that he could be proud of.

But, in the end, she was just meager dirt under his jeweled boot; a boot that was more expensive than her.

"Hush, dear. It's all right, everything's going to be fine." Gracia gently murmured, never leaving her side once. In that, and everything that was, Elizabeth will be forever grateful to the woman.

"Don't worry, my darling. Nothing's going to hurt you, not while I'm around." The Signora's words were a calming lullaby to her mangled soul. In the midst of the silence, the graying moon, the ever-clear night sky and the soft words of the older woman, Elizabeth fell asleep.

Her final thoughts before she drifted into slumber were the soft caresses of Roy.

* * *

Maes sighed tiredly as he gazed out of the carriage and into the fading city in the distance. He had to leave the Citta Della Quattro Santa after receiving a very important message from the Crown. Deeply, he felt thankful to the message. Even though he was Roy's best friend, and will always be there for him, Maes was beginning to feel irritated at Roy's sudden change in his demeanor.

Ever since he had met the Duke, Maes had known Roy to be the ultimate Casanova. The man was the epitome of charm and he was a complete enigma when it came to relationships. Often, Maes would get annoyed at his friend's infinite quest of deflowering women, and toying with their hearts like a fool. However, when Maes had seen Roy with that woman, Riza, the man had lost his usual arrogant smirk and there was a glowing smile on his face. He didn't even act the usual way he would when faced with a beautiful woman. Time and time again, he would drape his arm around her, or even touch the willing victim's thigh, but with Riza, he did none of those things. Instead, he kept a respectable and courteous distance from the picturesque nymph. Yet, just this sundown, Roy had reverted back to his old self. And Maes was not liking it one bit.

Nor did he like what had transpired hours ago. Maes could recall every strand of that memory, and it made him shudder.

* * *

_"Roy! Where are you going?" Maes called out. He saw Roy turn from the Staircase, his body aligning with his movement. Beyond him, Maes could see a young lady, her face covered in paint and rouge and dressed in a dark red dress, with strings on the bodice, accenuating her bosom. Maes thought that she was overly-artificial, even when she had a large bust._

_"To my chambers." Roy answered with a leery smile, his eyebrows rising in suggestive nature. Maes didn't feel amused at his antics._

_"And where is your friend, Riza? I hadn't seen her since two nights ago." He asked, intentionally emphasizing the "her" in his words. The young lady turned to Roy, and asked, in an annoyingly chirpy voice that denoted how fake it was._

_"Who is Riza, Your Grace?" The malevolent gleam in the woman's cold blue eyes showed the hot jealousy she was obviously feeling over someone who was not into the thing she was thinking. Maes wanted to slap the woman into consciousness. Aristocracy had never been this decadent in England._

_"Oh, some ugly hag that wanted to bed me. But don't worry, love. She's gone." Roy announced long-sufferingly, placing his arm around her waist. The woman batted her eyelashes at him, silently seducing him with her wily charms. Roy chuckled arrogantly and left with the woman, leaving Maes alone._

_In that moment, Maes never felt such iron anger at Roy for calling his friend a hag. In anger, he stormed away, never having realized the odd look in Roy's eyes when he called Riza a hag._

* * *

Maes was lost in the reverie that he failed to notice that the carriage had stopped. When the driver called out his name, Maes snapped out of his reminiscence and looked out. The driver, a man around the age of forty, sporting a thick, graying moustache and black top hat, spoke.

"Signor, what are we to do about them?" Even though the driver was Italian, he learned to speak English in order to further his career, and Maes was grateful for it. He was never an expert in speaking Italian. Still, the driver's words confounded him. Leaning his head out, Maes stared outside. Off to the side of the carriage was a woman with short, curly brown hair and piercing viridiscent eyes. She stood straight, her silver dress swaying in the wind. When the woman's eyes met his hazel eyes, there was something formidable, something fierce in her gaze. Maes was sure that she wouldn't leave until she got what she wanted, even if it meant being trampled by four large stallions.

The woman came closer, this time there was need in her eyes. "Please, good sir. Can we ask for a ride? The next city is our only destination. We won't bother you again, after this."

"We?" Maes asked, puzzled. The woman stepped aside, to reveal a younger woman with golden hair that shone even in the moonlight. She had a tall figure, but with the gracious curves of the hips and the perfect formation of the breasts. She was a perfect creature. Her saxe blue dress, however, was not so immaculate. It was stained in dirt and there parts that should not have been ripped away. When the older woman motioned for the golden-haired maiden to step forward, Maes almost gasped in surprise.

"Riza? Is that you?" Maes asked, his voice etched with shock.

The younger woman nodded, her eyes on the ground. "Yes, sir. It is me."

"Dear God, come in, the both of you." Maes announced, opening the carriage doors. The older woman helped Riza get inside before following suit. He held the hand of the older woman, who was yet to introduce herself, and quite embarrassingly, noticed that her hand was soft and light and quite luminescent as he helped her up. It made his own look tan and quite matched hers. The woman muttered her thanks in a primly way, that exuded comfort and easiness. Unnaturally, Maes' heart began to beat faster a little.

When both women had seated themselves on the crimson satin of the seats, with him nearest to the door, Riza next to the window on the opposite seat and the older woman next to him, Maes motioned for the driver to continue.

"We're heading to Rome, that's the objective, but we'll probably pass by Siena in a few hours." Maes informed them, receiving a nod from the woman and silence from Riza. When the carriage moved again, light slightly passed by Riza, illuminating the red scars on her neck and on her hands. Concerned, Maes began.

"Those wounds will have to be treated, Riza. When we get to Siena, we'll find some help."

"Elizabeth."

Confused, Maes asked. "What?"

"My name is Elizabeth." The way she spoke her words, with her back straight, her gold hair tumbling like crashing waves against rocky columns, her hands folded neatly on her laps and her whole being reveling in moonlight, made Maes recall of the great Queen Elizabeth who had repelled the Spanish Armada off the territory of Britain.

"Oh, but I thought, when Roy-" He was cut off when Riza, apparently Elizabeth, stared coldly at him, her brown eyes freezing like cold ice.

For a moment, an uneasy silence descended into the carriage, halting all conversation. However, it was broken when the older woman laid a hand on his, eliciting goosebumps on his arms. Maes turned to the woman.

"Thank you, signor. For helping us when no one else would have. We owe you our lives. Please forgive Elizabeth, she had not a very good reception this day."

"It is nothing, madame. May I know your name?" Maes asked, quite attracted to the woman who seemed to match his age.

"Gracia, sir." She answered, a smile playing on her lips. Maes smiled in return, his hand enveloping hers.

"I am Maes, Gracia." Gracia nodded as she, still smiling, laid her head on the soft mattress of the seat. Similarly, Maes laid his own head on the headrest. He never realized that he was still holding Gracia's hand.

The night spun into a black maelstrom, with Maes and Gracia fast asleep on their seats, hands still together. However, sleep could not conquer all, as a lone Elizabeth stared into the starless sky with fear and doubt in her heart for the unseeable future.

* * *

Author's Note: I'd like to say that if any of you readers may not understand some parts of the story, you are welcome to send me a private message including all your clarifications. And remember, I love constructive criticism and reviews!!


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's Note: My everlasting gratitude to the reviews! It fed my heart and brain. Now, I shall progress with this story!_

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Chapter 19: The Dark Morn

Rome was quite boisterous and more advanced than the Citta Della Quattro Santa, with a barrage of shops and stores, multitudes of houses and buildings, several churches and cathedrals and a large, monstrous stream of people. The capital was an ever busy metropolis of retail and commerce. Even when the sun was still to rise, people were already bustling in the streets, either selling goods or buying ingredients for breakfast. Men and women hurried along the stone road, passing many columns, pillars and arches as they made their way to their destination. In the middle of the rush of busyness, Elizabeth held the basket to her breast as she moved with the crowd. She gazed about, looking at the marvel of business, her golden hair in a delicately beautiful tumble around her face. Spotting a shop selling multiple types of fish, Elizabeth made her way to it, slipping among the people.

She was greeted by the smell of seawater and the promise of fresh food. An old man, kind and smiling, stood behind the table full of trays, all with different fish in them. He grinned at her. "Welcome, signorina. Which fish would you like to buy?"

Elizabeth stared at the many fish and thrust her finger at the silvery Spigola. "Four, _per favore_."

The man took four Spigola, all with thick meat and looking very delicious. He wrapped them in a thick cotton wrap, mentally calculating the price. When he announced the price, Elizabeth handed him some of the money that Maes had given to her when she went out to buy food.

She exited the store as the man then greeted another customer. Walking by the side, Elizabeth glanced at the tendrils of sunlight as they begin to shine brighter and forceful. She was so mesmerized by the climbing light that she walked right into someone. Stepping back, and adjusting her basket, Elizabeth glanced up to apologize.

He was taller than her, almost by a foot, and Elizabeth was remarkably tall for an Italian. But this dignified-looking man with the older set towered over her. He was dressed in the simple clothes of a normal citizen, but it wasn't what he was wearing that overpowered her. The man had an aristocratically straight nose, with sharp, wise and piercing brown eyes that almost matched hers. His dark, chestnut moustache was cut and curled at the ends like how most of the old aristocrats did.

The man stared at her, with a shocked expression. For a moment, he just stood there, silently surprised. He never moved an inch, nor did Elizabeth. Seconds ticked until the man suddenly collected himself and muttered an apology before walking away.

Confounded, Elizabeth stared at his retreating figure, noticing the regal gait he had. It was quite a while before she moved again, this time back to her destination, the image of the man not leaving her mind. The man's face hadn't left Elizabeth's mind, even when she had arrived at her destination.

Grasping the iron gates, Elizabeth pushed it open and went in. She momentarily gazed at the house's white walls, red roof and it's mahogany doors. She took a moment to gaze at the gold window panes and the growing vervain in the garden. The violet and white flower was the same one she had saw when she had first left the Citta Della Quattro Santa. She remembered liking it and had asked Maes if he knew about it. He said that it was vervain, and Gracia taught her how it can be used as a form of perfumery. Elizabeth remembered Gracia submerging petals of vervain in boiling water, recalling the sweet scent it exuded.

"Oh, Elizabeth, there you are!" Gracia exclaimed upon opening of the mahogany doors. "Let me take that, so I can prepare breakfast."

She took the basket from my hands and walked back in, heading for the kitchen. "Why don't you take a break in the garden, dear? Maes is just taking a morning stroll along the village."

Elizabeth complied without sound; Gracia had already recognized that as a sign that she agreed. Turning to her right, Elizabeth followed the brick walkway and into the small garden. She took a seat upon the soft, dewy grass and plucked a vervain flower from the bunch. Fiddling the violet-and-white petals in her fingers, Elizabeth's mind swam into distant thoughts and pained memories.

_Roy._

She clutched one petal as the others fell like fallen eagles, plummeting into the cold earth. Elizabeth stared at the violet petal, her mind on the man that had embedded himself into her heart. She had no idea, actually, how he had done it. When it came to Roy, all her walls came down. He captured her heart in one swift stroke, completely immobilizing her with his loving actions, and his soft caresses. She thought that when Roy had finally tired of her, for that was what she believed, she would begin to hate him.

But, Elizabeth couldn't hate him. She tried to, but she found that she was powerless to stop her heart from reaching out, even when it was now broken, to him. She forgave him. Elizabeth didn't know why, or how. But, she just did. Her mind couldn't halt the flow of her love for him. Her logical side told her she was being foolish, but her heart was telling her to be strong and be forgiving.

Slowly, she let the petal fall into the folds of her dress. She glanced up and watched the birds soar along with the wind, like fish upon the currents.

Elizabeth took her surroundings with great attention, observing everything with rapt eagerness. The soft chirping of the birds, the sounds of the crickets, the crashing of tree branches upon each other, made up for a glorious symphony. It played smoothly, flowing perfectly with the tender breeze. If she just put her mind to it, Elizabeth could faintly hear the soft notes of a piano in the air.

Her musings were disturbed, however, by the arrival of Maes. She saw the man step out the carriage, and enter the gates. He waved at her from the walkway, asking. "Where's Gracia?"

She waved back and answered. "She's inside, preparing breakfast."

Maes thanked her, before entering the house hastily. Elizabeth smiled to herself. She could see that the man was smitten with Gracia. When they had arrived in Siena, Elizabeth and Gracia were about to leave, when Maes suddenly asked them if they'd like to stay with him in Rome. Gracia at first declined, but seeing the forlornness at Maes' eyes, Elizabeth convinced Gracia to accept. When they arrived at Rome, she found out that Maes had already bought a house and welcomed them both to it.

Elizabeth chuckled. Turning her head to the house, she saw through the windows Gracia was by the counters and Maes was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. A smile was playing by the older woman's lips and Maes' hazel eyes were alight with tender joy. Both of them were perfect for each other, Elizabeth thought wistfully.

_Unlike me and Roy._

And instead of dwelling on the dismal matter, Elizabeth placed a smile on her face. She'd move on, rise above and fly from the pain away. She didn't need to mourn her love for him every moment of her life. She was through with grief. Roy had taught her that. In the end, her life is in her hands. Though the man had hurt her, he had also taught her that not everything is beautiful. The world will always be a place of danger, but also a place of refuge.

She'd delight in the happiness of others.

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"How is she holding up?" Maes asked, as he inhaled Gracia's floral scent. He enveloped her in his arms, having missed her so much. Gracia made a moaning sound of pleasure in her throat before answering him.

"She's doing well. Elizabeth's growing."

"That's good." Maes commented, tightening his grip on her waist.

Gracia looked out, and Maes followed suit. He watched Elizabeth smile to herself as a bird landed near her. They watched the young woman stroke the bird before capturing it in her hands. She stood and made her way to the gate and thrst the bird into the air. Maes gazed at the tiny creature as it flew into the morning light.

"I think we're going to be okay." Maes said to Gracia.

"Yes, I think we will be." Gracia replied and both of them continued their work as they thought of the dark future and the impending catastrophes. Maes had a feeling that things would soon get worse, but for the first time, he felt that there was hope. After all, the morning will always come after the dark.

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_Author's Note: I know this is an extremely short chapter but I did this on purpose because I am preparing for the epilogue of this story. So, thank you for putting up with me, and if it I may ask, I'd like for a review. :)_


	20. Epilogue

_Author's Note: So...this is it._

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Epilogue

_The 14th of the twelfth month of 1870 _  
_Rome, Italy _  
_8:17 post meridiem_

_It has been a long time since the events that shaped my life had happened. My time in the Citta della Quattro Santa was now a distant memory, as I now sit in my room in a house located in Rome. Ever since, things have gotten quite better. Though I can still say that th ghost of Roy still haunts me, it no longer depresses me. Goodness finally seems to come into my existence. And so does surprise! Well, just this afternoon, I met the mysterious man whom I had encountered when I had been walking the streets of Rome. He seemed to be a nice man, since he had talked with me when I sat in one of the benches of the park, that was located close to the house. It was there that I had met him again. I did not have the slightest idea, but I grew to like the old man. He and I became fast friends, as if something was calling to us._

_The man said his name was Alexander and he wanted me to call him that. Though he was nice, he was quite enigmatic. When I had jokingly said that I'd call him Grandfather Alexander, there seemed to be something that passed in his eyes and he then smiled that tender smile of his. He was a fatherly man, as he joked and teased me all the time. The old man seemed so happy that I couldn't help but smile and feel happy, too._

_Ever since then, I could see him walking by the house, for I had introduced him Maes and Gracia. But, another unnerving that had happened was that Maes seemed to turn ashen when I introduced Alexander to him. Yet, Gracia was herself when she smilingly welcomed Alexander to our home. That night, we had a nice meal and, although Maes was quite silent throughout the evening, I still had a good time with the old man._

_We talked on several matters, from cooking to politics and to the recent murders that I had read in the papers. Rumors had began to spread that a secret coven, known as the Imperium was responsible for the deaths. It was quite grisly, but I couldn't fathom why they had to kill others, especially nobles. Our talks reached until the mid of night and Alexander had bid farewell. It was quite sad to see him leave, for I already missed the loving old man._

_With that in mind, and the fact that I would see him again tomorrow, I had went to my bed and thought of the things that happened over the course of these past few months. I had went through pain, humiliation, happiness, sorrow, ecstasy and love. All these had helped me grow and accept the world around me. I won't deny that I'm still in love with Roy, but I know that that memory of that special time would be enough to help me survive. I no longer feel bitter against any of those who had crushed me beneath their boots. They were now the distant past._

_Yet, I had a feeling that this is not the end of my road. I know that I'm still a long way from the end. But, instead of fretting about that, I'd rather take everything slowly and just wait for the coming dawn with hope and courage in my heart. Of all, Roy taught me the value of cherishing life and not giving up._

_He was my teacher, my friend and my lover._

_And I'd slumber, with that thought in mind. I'd rather remember him for the good things he had done rather than the pain he had caused. After all, he was still human. And I had known from the start that he would soon be gone from me. I knew of nobles and their arranged marriages, or even worse, of their adulterous debauchery._

_It would have been a matter of time. As the people say, it is better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all! God be praised! At least, I have sampled the delights of looking into someone's eyes and knowing that you'll be safe. How ironic that I experienced that with Roy! But, these words are not borne from bitterness, but rather from an observation that had deemed itself amusing._

_In the distance, as I look out of my window, I could see the arising moon. It is probably late, and I have to awaken early by the next morn for Gracia and I are going to the market. So, I conclude this entry knowing that though the future is quite unclear, for the granite wall of time seems to block my view from it, I know and believe that there is light, in the smallest of things. Even seeing a young girl smile in the arms of her loving father had brought a smile to my own face. This world may yet have a chance to arise from the dark decadence that had plagued it._

_Tonight, I shall sleep, dreaming of idyllic scenes and painted meadows._

_Elizabeth_

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_Author's Note: So, this concludes the tale of "The Child of the Dark Morn"! It seems that I have gone from a long way whence I had begun this story! But, do not fret, readers! For the story of Roy and Riza will not end with this enigmatic scene! Future catastrophes will come, and there will be more sorrows for Roy and Riza. For in the distant future, one shall come and be known as "The Royal Phantasm."_

_...for those who did not get what I wrote, "The Royal Phantasm" is my sequel. So, celebrate everybody! It's not the end...yet!_


	21. The Royal Phantasm

_AN: Alright, the reason I posted this kind of teaser is that to inform all of you my readers that I have posted the sequel. Actually, I posted it a long time ago but in case some of you didn't put me on the author alert, and that you wish to read the sequel, this will do the trick. I was afraid of posting an author's note because prohibits the use of chapters as author's notes._  
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Chapter 1: The Lullaby

The silence was a hideous monster that invaded the security and sanctity of Catherine's home. The quiet stillness that seemed to freeze time was horrid for a four-year old girl like her. Throughout her life, Catherine had been surrounded by festivity, celebration, revelry and laughter. Even when Mother tucks her in bed, there would always be the soft melody of her music box to lull her to slumber. When she awoke, the bustle of the maids below and the cackle of the birds greeted her with raucous enthusiasm. Yet, as of this dark moment, Catherine heard nothing. Not even the faint scurrying of the disgusting rats, or the terrifying call of the owls. The hush scared her.

Catherine hugged Gloria, her doll, closer. She tried to stifle the tears theat were threatening to fall from her eyes and soak the cloth that covered them. Mother had said to wear it and not take it off or she would be very sad and cry. Catherine didn't want Mother to cry. So she wore the blindfold and sat quietly.

The whole house made not one sound.

She laid her cheek against Gloria's. She was so scared and she couldn't even see! She thought of Mother and that brought a smile to her face. Thinking of Mother always calmed her and made her happy. Mother was very good and Father was even better. Father always bought toys for her and made her laugh and would play with her when he came home. He also loved Mother very much and that made Catherine happy. Thinking about them, Catherine began to sing a song that Mother taught her when she was scared, so that she would not cry.

_Hush, little flower, oh sweet little flower..._

A thud reached Catherine's ears and she stopped singing. It sounded like someone was coming up the stairs! Then there was another thud. Catherine smiled._ It's Mother!_

So, Catherine continued to sing, this time louder.

_Cry not for the sun shall return..._

The sound of the footsteps came closer, and it began to sound louder. Catherine sang the next line, hoping that Mother would hear her and remove the blindfold.

_Smile, little flower, oh sweet little flower..._

Catherine heard the footsteps stop. There was the deafening silence again.

_Cry not for the sun shall return..._

She heard the sound of a door opening, its hinges creaking. She smiled to Mother. She was happy that Mother found her. "Hello, Mother!" She exclaimed joyfully.

Catherine heard Mother come closer, the sound of the floorboard creaking beneath her weight. When Mother stop in front of her, Catherine said, "Take of the blindfold, Mother. I want to see you."

Hands combed through her hair and Catherine felt Mother's fingers untying the knot of the cloth behind her head. She felt the cloth fall from her cheeks softly, like it was made of air. She giggled as it tickled her neck. Catherine opened her eyes.

She couldn't see Mother properly because it was very dark in the room. She could only see her white dress. Catherine stood and hugged Mother.

"I missed you, Mother." Mother returned her embrace, but Catherine was saddened that Mother did not speak. She looked up, her chin against the velvet white cloth of her bodice.

Mother's face was clouded by the dark, and Catherine couldn't tell if she was happy or sad. "Mother, let's find Father."

Mother stood and held out her hand. Catherine smiled and took it, her other hand clutching Gloria to herself.

They went out of the room and came down the stairs, Catherine holding on to Mother's hand tightly. She was scared that the house was very dark. There was no lights, and the maids weren't around. When they reached the living room, Catherine let go of Mother's hand to sit on the couch, whose back was turned to them. Mother stayed in her place, not moving an inch.

Slowly, Catherine made her way to the couch, the feeling of fear intensifying as she came closer. When she stepped in front of the coach, her voice was stuck in her throat and she was unable to scream.

Mother was lying on the coach, her eyes staring at her and something red was dripping by her neck. Catherine took a step backward and tripped on something. She turned her head and gasped. Father was on the floor, the same red water was all over his favorite white shirt.

"Mother! Father!" Were they sleeping? Why won't they wake up? "Wake up! Wake up!"

Her parents did not respond. Catherine began to cry, not understanding why her parents won't wake up and cuddle her. She felt the tears trail down her cheeks.

_Hush, little flower..._

A feminine voice sang and made Catherine look up. There was the woman who she thought was Mother standing behind the couch. Suddenly, Catherine felt her heart beat faster and she couldn't hold back the cry she gave out

The woman moved from behind the couch and came towards her. She extended a hand to Catherine, her other behind her back. Catherine looked at the woman and, for the first time, saw her face, though only the eyes. They were the color of violet.

Take it, they seem to beckon.

Catherine hushed her cries and took the woman's hands. She was very nice when she was so scared upstairs. She would go with her and find out what's wrong with Mother and Father. She came closer to the woman.

"Thank you, lady."

Catherine saw the woman smile, and she felt cold fear grip her insides. Then the woman brought out her other hand, and saw what it was holding. Catherine couldn't take her eyes off it. She was glued to the shining object that reflected her face. In the reflection, Catherine could see her green eyes and brown hair. She also saw the tears spilling. And the fear.

She finally realized what it was.

Catherine screamed. She jerked herself away, screaming, but the hand that was gripping hers was too strong. She screamed and screamed.

Yet the knife was still coming.

_oh little flower..._

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_Author's Note: So, how do you like the first chapter of "The Royal Phantasm"? I told you it was going to be darker! Anyway, thanks for dropping by and a review always keep the doctor away!_


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